The Road Divided
by EKWTSM9
Summary: "Things don't go wrong and break your heart so you can become bitter and give up. They happen to break you down and build you up so you can be all that you were intended to be." - Charlie Jones
1. Chapter 1

**The Road Divided – Chapter One**

"So what you are saying, Inspector Keller, if I may, is that your interest in my client, Mr. Parker, came about because your initial suspect, Roland Palmer, presented you with an airtight alibi that you couldn't shake? Is that what you're inferring?"

"Ah, no, sir, Mr. Parker was always a suspect, and the fact that we eliminated Mr. Palmer by confirming his alibi, doesn't have anything to do with Mr. Parker's guilt, or innocence." The young cop paused, dropped his gaze and with a slight smirk continued softly, "And that would be _'implying'_ , Mr. Donnelly, not _'inferring'._ " He swallowed a grin when he heard the familiar muffled snort of a aborted laugh reach his ears from the gallery, and he glanced up to see his partner staring at him with wide appreciative eyes, one hand covering his mouth, turning his chortle into a cough.

Donnelly's angry glare snapped from the inspector into the gallery and then to the judge's bench. The jurist, trying to hide his smile as he made a note on the pad before him on the desk, avoided the lawyer's sharp frustrated stare. Taking a deep breath, knowing he had irritated the judge enough for one morning, Donnelly turned back to the young homicide detective and smiled silkily. "Thank you for the … grammar lesson, Inspector," he said easily with a slight smile that failed to erase the rage still visible in his eyes.

Donnelly began to walk toward the defence table then, as if as an afterthought, turned back and seemed to stroll casually towards the witness box. "Tell me, Inspector Keller, you're actually an assistant inspector, are you not? You were promoted, ah, when was it, a little less than eight months ago when you joined the Homicide Division, isn't that right?"

"Yes, sir," Steve answered as he saw Assistant District Attorney Gerald O'Brien get to his feet.

"Objection, Your Honor. Relevance?"

Donnelly glanced quickly from O'Brien to Judge Salewski. "If you will indulge me, Your Honor…"

"I don't mind answering," Steve offered, looking from the judge back to Donnelly, meeting the lawyer's stare evenly.

"Very well. Overruled."

Glancing worriedly at Steve, and with a warning tilt of his head, O'Brien sat back down.

"Yes, sir," Steve began, continuing to meet the defence attorney's steely-eyed glare, "I am an assistant inspector, and I joined Homicide seven months and 23 days ago…exactly."

Sauntering nonchalantly closer to the box, his hands in his pockets, Donnelly glanced over his shoulder towards the gallery. "Your partner is the senior officer in Homicide, right? Lieutenant Mike Stone?"

"Yes, sir." Steve's eyes flicked briefly into the gallery and met Mike's.

"So I'm curious. Why did Lieutenant Stone let _you_ handle this case? You were still 'getting your feet wet', so to speak, weren't you? There must have been several more experienced officers around who could have taken the lead … so, why you?"

Steve shrugged slightly, still meeting Donnelly's cold stare. "I guess you'll have to ask him, but from my understanding, this was the third case we were investigating as partners, and I think he realized I was ready to take the lead."

"Do _you_ think you were ready to head up a murder investigation?"

"Well, I guess I did because, well, Mr. Parker is sitting over there and he _is_ charged with second degree murder, isn't he?"

Donnelly froze slightly as Steve stared at him defiantly, and a low murmur, much of it amusement, rippled through the gallery. O'Brien looked down at the notes in front of him and cleared his throat pointedly. Judge Salewski's brief smile quickly disappeared as he glanced at the clock on his bench.

"Ah, Mr. Donnelly, it's almost one o'clock. Do you have anymore questions for Inspector Keller?"

Tearing his eyes from the passive and unruffled young cop, Donnelly turned to the bench. "Yes, sir, I do. A lot of questions."

"Then I suggest we break for lunch and then you can continue." Picking up his gavel, Salewski faced the rest of the room. "Ladies and gentlemen, this court is in recess until 2:30." He slammed the gavel on the sound block.

"All rise," announced the bailiff as he got to his feet and everyone in the courtroom did as instructed. When the judge had made his exit, Steve stepped down from the witness box and started across the well towards the gallery. O'Brien stopped him as he got to the gate. "You're doing great, Steve," he whispered encouragingly and Steve nodded gratefully.

Mike joined his partner in the aisle and they started towards the door. As they followed the other spectators through the large wooden doors into the teaming corridor, Mike put his fedora on, chuckling slightly. Steve looked at him sideways.

"What?"

Grinning, the older man glanced over, shaking his head. "You got balls, I gotta give you that. Taking on Donnelly. Look, Steve, you're doing great and I love it, but watch yourself with him. He _is_ a shark. I've been up against him a number of times over the years and he's not someone to trifle with – or take too lightly."

Mike glanced at his watch. "Say, why don't we head over to Mama's and grab a quick lunch and we can go over your testimony again for this afternoon. You can't be too prepared, especially against Donnelly."

Laughing, Steve nodded. "You got it." He was grateful for the opportunity to review the case once more; he knew he had gotten off easily that morning. His first hour on the stand had been spent answering questions from O'Brien, _their_ side. And though the questions hadn't been softball, it had been an easy start to what he knew was probably going to be a couple of days of intense questioning.

Though the case wasn't major – a john who had killed a prostitute in a drunken rage – the defendant was the middle-aged scion of a once-prominent San Francisco family and it had been a case fraught with social and political overtones, even while being a fairly cut-and-dried whodunit. There had been a tabloid curiosity surrounding it at first, which had petered out when the public titillation turned out to be less than headline-grabbing.

But for Steve, it was the most important case in his life up to that point. It had been six weeks into his new rank and position in a new bureau, and he was still finding his way, both as the legendary Mike Stone's new partner and as a homicide detective. Everything had started wonderfully smoothly, and he felt comfortable almost immediately with the veteran lieutenant, who was turning out to be not just an extraordinary teacher and mentor, but quickly becoming a good friend.

They had butted heads on occasion – Steve's experience in the streets as a patrolman and later in Vice giving him an attitude and confidence that he refused to relinquish without a fight. And the older man, with the uncanny ability to put aside his preconceptions and actually listen to new and seemingly different points of view, would engage with him in debates about the merits of one modus operandi versus another.

The young assistant inspector was dumbstuck then, and delighted, when, arriving at the flophouse backroom where the body of a young Chinese prostitute had been found, Mike had asked if he felt confident enough to take the lead on this particular case. With Mike staying in the background, Steve had taken charge and within a week, they had Robert Daniel Palmer in lock-up, charged with second degree murder.

And now, finally, the case had gone to court, and though Steve had plenty of experience testifying before, they were brief appearances in the capacity of being the first officer on the scene when he was in uniform, or confirming a drug buy or john bust when in Vice. This was different; this was the big leagues.

The babble of voices in the corridor was almost deafening. Two other courtrooms had emptied out at almost the same time, spectators and court personnel scrambling to get out of the building into the fresh air and grab a little lunch. The pair of homicide detectives had gotten to the top of the huge central staircase when the sound of raised and angry voices sliced through the air.

Both men turned quickly in the direction of the commotion. Outside the heavy wooden doors of the closest courtroom, a small crowd had gathered and as the pair started forward, the small group quickly backed away, revealing two men in dark suits grappling with each other. A dark-haired middle-aged man had the other, a blond man of indeterminate age, in a headlock and was bringing him to his knees when Mike and Steve approached on the run.

Almost instinctively, Mike circled to get behind the man on top, reaching around him to grab his arms and try to pull him off. Steve grabbed the same man's arms from in front and between the two they managed to separate them.

With an enraged yell, the dark-haired man threw his arms back and viciously shook off Mike's hold, momentarily stunning the cop with his speed and power. Steve reached for the blond man, who had turned to face his adversary, to pull him away when he turned, right elbow up and caught Steve on the side of the head. The young inspector saw stars as his head suddenly swam and he momentarily lost his balance.

Mike, regaining his composure quickly, slammed both hands down on the dark-haired man's shoulders and began to slide his hands down the mans arms to pin them to his sides. With blinding speed, the other man spun to his right, and before Mike had the chance to react, the man's left fist connected viciously with Mike's

unprotected right rib cage.

With a pain-filled gasp, Mike was slammed back into the marble wall, both arms instinctively crossing his chest as he sank slowly to the floor. From seemingly out of nowhere, two uniformed guards grabbed the dark-haired man by the arms and wrestled him back, dropping him quickly to the floor on his face, forcing his hands behind his back.

Steve, with a quick shake of his throbbing head to clear his vision, tried once more to grab the blond man, who had turned to face him after administering the hard wallop. Still a little stunned, Steve was unprepared for the blow to his jaw that sent him reeling once again. Even as he staggered backward he knew his lip was split and he could taste the blood flowing into his mouth. As he struggled to stay on his feet, two more security guards charged past him and grabbed the blond man, throwing him into the wall then turning him roughly so they could maneuver his hands behind his back to cuff him.

The babble of voices in the corridor had risen to a fever pitch while the scuffle was taking place, and it didn't diminish even though the antagonists were now in handcuffs. Steve, leaning forward, his head pounding and blood dripping slowly from his mouth, was trying to pull himself together when he felt a hand on his back.

"Are you okay, Steve?" he heard a somewhat familiar voice laced with concern and turned his head slowly. Sergeant Al Malone's broad Irish face was hovering mere inches from his own.

Trying to nod without making his head hurt anymore than it did, Steve began to straighten up. He glanced around for Mike, unable to see him, then noticed another uniformed officer crouching near the wall and beyond him he could see the comforting sight of the fedora.

"'m okay," Steve nodded through bloodied lips as he took a step towards his partner. "How's Mike?"

From his position sitting on the floor against the wall, both arms still wrapped around his chest, Mike looked up at his partner, a smile brightening his pained expression. "Wow, what hit you?" he asked with a slight chuckle then winced.

Steve smiled as best he could, the split lip swelling alarmingly. "You okay?"

Nodding, Mike moved to get onto his knees and, with Sergeant Sullivan's help, got slowly to his feet, holding his breath as he did so. "Yeah," he answered finally as he straightened up, pressing his right hand once more against his right ribs, "I think he might have cracked a couple of ribs."

"You better get that looked at, Mike," Carter said with a serious nod. "That's nothing to fool around with." He looked at Steve. "And you might need a stitch in that lip of yours. Not to mention that black eye you're probably going to develop there too," Carter finished, pointing at Steve's right eye.

The two partners looked at each other, worry creasing both faces, then they smiled, the ridiculousness of the situation suddenly hitting home. "Well," said Mike with a slight chuckle, "so much for lunch."

The two sergeants exchanged baffled looks. "Look, ah, I'll drive you over to Franklin –"

"No, it's okay, Al," Steve said slowly, fishing the car key out of his pocket, "I can drive us."

"Steve, you're in no condition –" Mike's hand on his arm stopped him in mid-sentence.

"It's okay, Al, this kid can drive under any circumstance." Mike winked at Steve conspiratorially. "I trust him. We'll be okay on our own. But do me a favor, will ya? Tell Gerry and Judge Salewski that we might not be back on time and they might have to put someone else on the stand."

Malone looked from one partner to another, both of them smiling through their pain. "You sure?"

Mike nodded, then reached out and took Steve's elbow and slowly both battered officers made their way back to the staircase and started down.


	2. Chapter 2

His head continuing to pound, Steve pushed the panic bar on the side door and held it open for his partner to exit out into the bright afternoon sunshine. Mike winced slightly and caught his breath as he started down the few concrete steps to the asphalt and Steve, his tongue playing over his grossly swollen lip, shot him another worried look. "You sure you can make it?"

Trying hard to suppress another wince, Mike nodded. "Yeah, they're probably gonna have to tape me up. I may need to take a couple of days off."

As they continued to the car, Steve's frown deepened. Though he didn't know Mike all that well yet, he was nevertheless startled by this admission of vulnerability. In their short time together, the older man had never given in to anything with regards to his health, even though the most Steve had witnessed was a bad cold that had almost developed into pneumonia. It had taken a direct order from their superior, Captain Rudy Olsen, to persuade Mike to stay home and recover.

Suddenly, and with a pang of guilt, Steve thought ahead to his next stint on the stand facing Donnelly. If Mike wasn't going to be in the gallery, would he be able to comport himself with as much confidence as he had today?

He shook his head and smiled inwardly. Here he was again, jumping to the worst possible conclusion. That was a character trait he kept trying to overcome, as yet unsuccessfully.

As they got to the car, Steve reached up to delicately touch the growing lump just beside his right eye. He wasn't looking forward to looking in a mirror anytime soon; he could just imagine what he looked like.

Trying to breath shallowly, Mike approached the passenger side of the green Galaxy and opened the door with his left hand. He found the discomfort in his chest was lessened somewhat if he kept his right upper arm close to his side and his forearm across his stomach. He sat slowly and carefully on the front seat then looked to his right and sighed. There was no way he could reach out with his right arm and close the door, and reaching across with his left was also out of the question.

Steve was just about to close the driver's side door when he glanced across the seat to find Mike looking at him, apology in his eyes. Steve's eyes flicked briefly from his partner's pain-lined face to the still open door and with a quick nod, climbed out of the car and jogged around to close the passenger side door. By the time he got back into the driver's seat, he was truly worried.

He started the car and shifted into Reverse, glancing into the rearview mirror. As if reading his mind, Mike said quietly, laughter in his voice, "I wouldn't look at yourself in the mirror – you might not like what you see right now."

"Thanks a lot," Steve replied dryly, with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Mike leaned back and closed his eyes, releasing a held breath in a careful sigh. As the Galaxy left the parking lot, Steve glanced across the seat once more. "You okay?"

Mike opened his eyes and lifted his head. "Yeah, it just…seems to be getting a little worse." He turned to face his young colleague. "So, chances are you're not going to get back to the courtroom this afternoon, so we'll have time tonight to go over your testimony again. Actually, what happened just now might turn out… to be a …. a good … thing…"

Steve looked over. Mike was still sitting up but his head was bobbing slowly from side to side; Steve could see that his eyes were unfocused and his mouth was slightly open. Steve started to slow the car down, trying to pull it over in the heavy mid-afternoon traffic, as Mike's head wobbled even more and he began to collapse very slowly towards the dashboard.

"Mike!" Steve called, trying to get his attention, and he slammed the car to a stop in the middle of the street, reaching out to grab the sleeve of Mike's jacket and pull the older man towards him before he hit the dash. By the time Mike's head made contact with the seat beside Steve's leg, he was unconscious.

Frantic, Steve leaned across his partner and groped under the passenger seat for the gumball. His fingers could barely touch the cord and he threw himself forward a bit more and managed to snag it with one finger. He picked the gumball up as his left hand wound the window down then slammed it on the roof, snapped on the siren and threw the car back into drive, no longer aware of his pounding head and throbbing lip.

# # # # #

"Steve, what the hell's going on? What the hell happened to Mike?" Captain Rudy Olsen's voice penetrated the discomfort in his head and Steve removed the ice pack from against his right eye and looked up at the older man standing over him.

Olsen's worried expression softened somewhat as he took in his battered young colleague, with two obvious black stitches in his puffy lip and a knot on the side of right eye, which was swollen and starting to bruise.

Steve tried to shake his head but it hurt too much and he stopped. "I don't know, Captain," he said quietly, "we stopped a fight outside one of the courtrooms –"

"I know all about that," Olsen cut him off with a wave of his hand. "What I want to know is, what's wrong with Mike?"

Steve shook his head slightly again. "I don't know. He was complaining about cracked ribs, I think he got punched. Then he blacked out in the car on the way here." He nodded in the direction of the Emergency examination rooms. "They took him in there right away and I haven't heard anything since." Olsen glanced that way too before he sat down beside the young detective. "I was in getting x-rayed and stitched up and I just got out here myself."

Olsen looked at him once more. "How are you feeling?"

"My whole head hurts," he said with a small smile, putting the ice pack against his eye again. "Look, Captain, I haven't had a chance to call Jeannie Stone –"

"Don't worry about that," Olsen cut him off again. "I've got that under control. Marie is going to pick her up and bring her here."

Steve knew that Olsen and his wife Marie were old friends of Mike and his late wife Helen, and that Mike's daughter Jeannie was treated much like their own two girls.

"Let's just hope we get to take them both home after all this," Olsen said with a sigh. "Let's just hope it _is_ only cracked ribs." He glanced around nervously then stood up. "Look, ah, I'm gonna give Gerry a call, see what's happening with the Parker trial. I'll let you know."

Olsen disappeared down the hallway, looking for a phone. Steve sat back, keeping the ice pack against his eye, and shot a worried glance down the Emergency hallway.

# # # # #

"Steve, ah, I don't know… ah, look, I, ah, I just talked to Gerry and they want you back in court," Olsen said slowly as he crossed the waiting room once more towards the young detective. Steve's head shot up and he glared at his superior with wide-eyed disbelief, taking the ice pack away from his face.

"What?" He shook his head slightly. "No, I'm not –"

"Steve, you don't have a choice. Gerry talked to Salewski about what happened and the judge said that since you weren't badly injured and you are the one on the stand at the moment and not Mike, he doesn't want to delay this trial any longer. He has a full calendar and the sooner this is over, the better for everyone."

Steve opened his mouth to protest again but Olsen pressed on. "You don't have a choice in this, Steve," he reiterated. "They have the medical examiner on the stand right now but that's only going to eat up about an hour or so. And they have nobody else on deck because you were supposed to be on the stand for at least the rest of the afternoon and probably tomorrow morning as well. Now, I've got a black-and-white waiting for you at the front entrance, so you better get going."

"Captain… I –"

"I know, I know," Olsen said quickly, leaning forward to put a hand on Steve's elbow and pulling him to his feet, "we haven't heard about Mike yet, but I'm afraid this can't be helped, Steve. Your job right now is to be in that courtroom."

Steve looked down and nodded reluctantly.

"Now I'm gonna stay here and I'll get word to Gerry as soon as I find out anything, all right? And there'll be a car waiting for you when the trial adjourns for the day to bring you back here right away. Okay?"

Steve looked away, suddenly too angry to meet his superior's eyes. But he knew there was no alternative. He dropped the ice pack onto the seat behind him and crossed the room towards the corridor to the front entrance.

# # # # #

"Geez, Steve, what are you doing back here so soon? You look like hell," Sergeant Malone asked as he held the door open, having seen the young Homicide detective get out of the back of a black-and-white and jog up the courthouse steps. "How's Mike?"

"I don't know, Al," Steve said quickly as he started across the tiled foyer towards the large marble staircase, the sergeant trailing slightly behind. "They wouldn't let me stay there long enough to find out." There was no mistaking the bitterness in his voice as they jogged up the steps.

Malone watched with concern as they reached the top of the stairs and turned in the direction of the courtroom. He increased his pace and grabbed Steve by the elbow, pulling him to a stop. "Steve, wait a minute." The angry young man turned to face him, impatience in his eyes. "Look, you're in no mood to go in there right now and take Donnelly on, believe me, I know." He let go of Steve's elbow and raised both hands in a placating gesture. "Look, Steve, let me go in there and talk to O'Brien for a few minutes, get him to come out here and talk to you, okay?"

Frustrated, Steve fidgeted, breathing heavily, looking down, his hands on his hips. Then he stopped and met Malone's hard stare. He nodded. "All right… all right… thanks, Al."

With a brief smile and nod, Malone turned and entered the courtroom. Steve threw his head back and walked in tight circles, trying to get his anger, frustration and worry under control. A little over a minute later, the door opened once more and Gerry O'Brien preceded Malone into the corridor.

"Steve," O'Brien said quietly as he approached the now still inspector, "I'm glad you're back, come with me." He started to head down the corridor.

Steve glanced over at Malone, who nodded encouragingly, then turned to follow O'Brien down the hallway and through a door on the left, which the attorney held open for him. It was a small meeting room and O'Brien motioned for Steve to take a seat at the table, while he perched on the edge, looking down.

"Steve, I know what happened with you and Mike in the corridor at the lunch break, and I know you still haven't heard about Mike's condition, but it's imperative that I have you with me a hundred percent this afternoon when you get back on that stand, am I understood?"

With a reluctant nod, Steve began to get to his feet.

"Not so fast." O'Brien smiled for the first time. "I still have about a half-hour's worth of questions for the medical examiner – I'm very good at dragging out cross-examinations," he chuckled with a twinkle in his eye, "and I want you to take the time to pull yourself together and go over the case in your mind again. I need you as calm, cool and collected in there this afternoon as you were this morning… Can you do that for me?"

With a half-smile, Steve nodded.

"Good," O'Brien nodded, getting to his feet. "You stay in here, and I'll have the bailiff come and get you when we need you, okay?"

"Yeah."

With a comforting pat of the younger man's arm, O'Brien made his exit. Steve sat back in the chair slightly and looked around the empty room. Then he leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. He felt very worried, and very alone.


	3. Chapter 3

Jeannie charged around the corner and into the Emergency waiting room, Marie Olsen just slightly behind her. The young woman's eyes quickly scanned the half-filled room and settled on the older man crossing towards her. "Uncle Rudy, how's Mike?" she asked breathlessly, worry so obvious in her voice.

Olsen put his hands on her upper arms to steady her. "Jeannie, honey, we don't know yet, they haven't come out to tell us." Glancing at his wife, he turned the young woman and directed her towards a group of chairs he had managed to keep free.

"What happened?" Jeannie asked as they sat, an Olsen on each side of her.

"Well, we're not exactly sure. It seems like Steve and your father broke up a fight in the corridor outside one of the courtrooms and they both got a little roughed up. Steve got a cut lip and a black eye and your dad got punched in the chest. He may have broken a couple of ribs."

Jeannie glanced at Mrs. Olsen then back to her husband. "Is that it? A couple of broken ribs?" She seemed almost surprised and more than a little relieved.

"Well, ah," Olsen sat back slightly, smiling at the two women, "I'm glad you're all right with that. I thought you'd be mad at him and, ah, at all of us…"

Smiling, Jeannie looked at him quizzically. "Why would I be mad at you? Mad at him, maybe, for trying to break up a fight…"

"Ah, I see," Olsen chuckled, rolling his eyes and smiling at his wife.

"No, all the way over I kept thinking maybe he was shot or something. Broken ribs? That just means I get to keep him home for a few days… and I get to baby him and you know how much he hates that, right?" She laughed, obviously relieved. She glanced around the room. "You said Steve was hurt too… are they still looking after him as well?"

Olsen cleared his throat. He couldn't resist a slight smile. He had listened with rapt delight over the past few months as Mike had relayed to him his daughter's infatuation with his new partner. Though Steve had only been to the Stone house socially a half dozen times so far, mostly for dinner, he knew Jeannie was metaphorically carrying a torch for the handsome young inspector and while it charmed and intrigued the Captain, it scared the hell out of the Lieutenant.

"No, ah, Steve was called back to the courthouse. He was on the stand when they broke for lunch and the judge demanded that he go back. He was pretty upset about it; he wanted to find out about Mike before he left but he couldn't." Seeing Jeannie's worried stare, he continued quickly, "Like I said, he has a split lip and a black eye but otherwise he's fine. He's coming back here after they adjourn for the day but, hopefully, we'll all be home by then."

# # # # #

Steve got out of the back of the black-and-white and jogged through the sliding glass doors of Emergency, past several small groups of uniformed cops, most of whom glanced in his direction. Now he was really worried. O'Brien had no news for him when the judge had finally called an end to this seemingly interminable day and the return trip to the hospital in the back of the patrol car took forever through the early evening traffic.

As he turned the corner into the waiting room, he was startled by the number of people packed into the fairly large space, both uniformed and plainclothes officers; some he knew, with others he had a nodding acquaintance. He heard his name being called and turned to see Captain Olsen hurrying towards him through the crowd. "I'm glad you're here, I was trying to call you at the courthouse."

"Captain, what's going on? Why are all these guys here? Do you know anything yet? … I mean, what's going on?" he stammered, anger and worry hampering his usual clear and coherent train of thought.

"Come here, sit down," Olsen instructed, grabbing his elbow and steering him towards a couple of empty seats.

As Steve was being led to the chairs, he glanced around the room. He could see Marie Olsen sitting in a corner, talking to a pair of older uniformed officers. "Isn't Jeannie here?"

"She's in with her father," Olsen informed him as they both sat, and Steve relaxed slightly. Olsen noted the change in attitude and cocked his head, taking a deep breath. "Steve, I didn't want to call you earlier because I wanted to make sure we had all the facts before we told you." He saw and felt the younger man stiffen and he paused for a beat before he continued. "I found out from Al Malone that the guy that

hit Mike is an ex-light heavyweight boxer, used to be a bit of a name in town here about, oh, ten, fifteen years ago. Rocco Costantini. The guy he was tangling with has been accused of raping Rocco's daughter and he'd just gotten off on a technicality. Rocco wasn't happy. And he obviously still packs one hell of a punch."

"What are you trying to say, Captain?"

"When, ah, when Mike told you he thought he might have a couple of cracked ribs… well, he was partially right. Two ribs on his lower right side were badly broken, and the impact from the punch sent the broken bones into his liver. He has two very large and deep lacerations of his liver and he was bleeding internally – and very rapidly – from the moment the punch was landed till they got him here and on the operating table." Olsen could see Steve's features contort more and more in worry with every word he spoke.

He nodded. "It's pretty bad, Steve, but the doctors keep telling us he's going to be okay. You got him here in time. But it's just gonna take some until we get him back again." He paused to let the impact of his words sink in.

"What's, ah, what…um, he's out of surgery?" Steve stumbled over the words, trying to think straight, trying to stay in the moment.

Olsen shook his head. "He hasn't had surgery yet. They have to get the bleeding stopped first."

Steve cocked his head, trying to understand what the older man was saying.

"But don't they stop the bleeding –?"

"From what they told us," Olsen interrupted him gently, "the liver is different from every other organ in the body. It's the only one that seems to actually… heal itself," his voice took on a hushed, awed tone, "but they have to get the bleeding stopped first. So what they've done is something called, um," as he struggled to find the right word he took a piece of paper out of his jacket pocket and glanced at it, "peri-hepatic packing. It's where they've placed packs of gauze bandages around the liver to compress it to stop the bleeding. They're going to leave the packs in him for the next 24 hours or so until the bleeding stops and then they'll take him into the OR and sew up the lacerations." He paused. "They say they do it all the time and it's highly successful."

Steve had looked down, eyes unfocused, trying to absorb all this new and somewhat frightening information. Shaking his head as if trying to clear it, he glanced around the room. "But why is everybody here, I don't understand…"

"They have to give him massive amounts of blood to counteract the bleeding until they can get it under control. Luckily Mike's blood type is O positive, so I put out a call for anyone with RH positive blood to get down here and donate." Olsen gestured towards the crowded room with a tight appreciative smile. "This was the response."

Steve eyes travelled the room, grateful to see so many familiar and unfamiliar faces, proving to him once more how close the law enforcement brotherhood was in The City.

He felt Olsen pat his knee. "He's not in any pain, Steve, he's heavily sedated."

"Where is he right now?"

"In the Critical Care Unit. Jeannie's with him."

"How is she holding up?"

Olsen smiled in spite of himself. "She's tough, like her dad. She's doing okay."

Steve nodded, smiling grimly. "Can, ah, can I see him?"

Olsen dropped his head and sighed sadly. "Unfortunately they're only allowing immediate family in. I'm sorry."

Steve snorted mirthlessly. "Hey, it's, uh, it's not your fault, Captain." He managed a small grateful smile.

Returning the smile, Olsen reached out and put his hand in the back of the young man's neck and squeezed. Steve dropped his head quickly and caught his breath; Mike had done that to him a couple of times and the tactile memory came flooding back in a rush.

"Listen, ah," Olsen began softly, "nothing's gonna change until tomorrow, and Marie and I are gonna be taking Jeannie back to our place for the night when they finally kick her out of CCU." He shook Steve's neck gently. "It's been a hell of a day for all of us but for you especially. Why don't you take a cab back home and try to relax and get yourself a good night's sleep? I know you have to be back in court tomorrow, and I know you're gonna want to be here. But I need you to promise me, Steve, that you call me first thing in the morning and I'll let you know if anything has changed, and then you present yourself back to the courthouse and you do what you're supposed to do, what Mike has taught you to do. You make him proud, and then you come back here and I'll do whatever I can to make sure you get in to see him. How does that sound?"

Steve brought a hand up to his forehead, then down to cover his eyes, careful to avoid the lump and still-darkening bruise around his right eye. The older man watched silently as he took a couple of deep breaths then froze for several seconds before beginning to nod slowly. "I really don't have much of a choice, do I?" he asked rhetorically, and Olsen smiled in sympathy, with a shake of his own head.

Watching as the slight young man came to terms with this new reality, Olsen gave him a few seconds. He glanced around the rapidly emptying room before asking gently, "So, how did it go this afternoon?"

Steve looked at him, brows suddenly knit in confusion then he brightened slightly. "Oh, uh, good, I guess. I just stuck to answering the questions. I think I might have gotten a little cocky with Donnelly this morning but, uh, well, it, ah, it didn't feel right to do that this afternoon."

Olsen snorted. "Donnelly can be one big pain in the ass when he wants to be but he's a hell of a lawyer. He puts it all on the table for his clients, that's for sure. But it's best not to take him on if you're not a hundred percent; he can smell blood in the water like a shark."

Steve laughed mirthlessly. "Yeah, Mike told me something like that at lunch, just before, ah…" He left the sentence incomplete.

"Look, get out of here," Olsen said again, slapping the younger man on the back, "grab a cab and get a receipt – the department'll reimburse you."

Getting slowly to his feet, Steve shook his head. "No, it's okay, Rudy, our car is still here. I'll take it home."

"You sure you want to drive?"

"Yeah, I'm okay."

"Okay, well, take care of yourself, all right? Be careful. And watch what you eat, you don't want to aggravate that split lip."

With a warm smile, Steve nodded and patted the older man on the arm as he started across the room towards the exit. He turned back briefly. "You'll call…?" he asked, miming a phone with his right hand.

"Of course," the captain nodded vigorously then watched as the despondent young man disappeared around the corner. With a heavy sigh, Olsen made his way to where his wife sat patiently, sinking back down onto the black leather chair to wait once again.


	4. Chapter 4

Jeannie Stone stared at her father's profile. She was sitting on a tall stool beside the hospital bed, the fingers of her right hand interlaced with his left. Her gaze kept drifting from his closed eyes above the oxygen mask to the bulge under the sheet over the lower right side of his chest. Monitors beeped all around her; IV tubes carrying blood, sedatives and saline were attached to both his arms.

She had spoken to him continually since she had arrived about a half hour before, reassuring him of her presence and that of the others, that Steve was all right and that he would be as well. But eventually she reluctantly acknowledged that he wasn't going to respond and she fell silent, watching with no small amount of comfort the steady rise and fall of his chest.

She bit her bottom lip, trying once again to stop the tears from gathering. It didn't seem so long ago that she had been placed in a similar situation, sitting by helplessly while a parent fought for their life. Her mother's battle was essentially unwinnable – her father, on the other hand, had more than a fighting chance. And in fact the doctors had assured her that she would have him home in about a week.

Still, the ache and fear in her heart had become almost more physical than psychological in the past half hour. If he would just open his eyes…

# # # # #

Steve closed the heavy front door behind him and tossed the car keys onto the nearby table. The headache that had plagued him all afternoon still hadn't gone away but was now almost manageable. He tried to remember if the bottle of aspirin was still in his medicine cabinet.

The last rays of the setting sun were still strong enough to illuminate the room and he left the lights off as he crossed slowly to the sofa and dropped onto it heavily. It was hard to believe that the day that seemed to have started so long ago was finally coming to a close.

He took a deep breath as he leaned back against the sofa and closed his eyes. He felt the sting of tears and opened his eyes quickly, inhaling sharply. He was not one to cry easily, but he was having a hard time controlling the emotions that were suddenly pulling him in several different directions.

The anxiety and anticipation of testifying as the lead investigator in his first big homicide investigation had given way to the overwhelming worry he now felt about the health and future of his partner. Right now he just wanted the trial to be over; he almost couldn't face that fact that he had to return to the courthouse tomorrow.

Ultimately, it was his job and he knew he would be there, in body and mind, if not in spirit. But it was something else that Captain Olsen had mentioned, that hadn't really registered when he heard it, but now rang loudly in his brain. _"It's just gonna take some time."_

Steve froze momentarily, releasing a held breath. What did he mean by that? He knew Mike wouldn't be back at work in the next week or two, that was a given, considering the seriousness of his injury. But would it take much longer than that for him to return to work – weeks? Months?

If so, then who would take his place as head of Homicide? The position couldn't remain vacant indefinitely. What would become of their partnership? Would he lose his position in Homicide and be relegated back to Vice?

Things had been going so smoothly in these first few months of this new relationship that Steve was suddenly afraid that he had been taking too many things for granted. All his life he had always felt that if things came too easily, then they wouldn't last. Something in the back of his mind kept telling him that his good luck had to come to an end. Was this it? Was this special alliance, this kinship he felt with a man old enough to be his father but who quickly was becoming the best friend he ever had, about to end so abruptly?

The tears sprung back to his eyes and he leaned forward and rubbed his hands over his face. He couldn't allow himself to think like that, to admit that something so essentially trivial as a wayward punch thrown in anger could spell the end to something as unique as the synergy he shared with Mike?

With an furious growl, he got to his feet and entered the kitchen, snapping on the overhead light. He opened the refrigerator door and reached for a beer then stopped, Olsen's words about tomorrow morning and the responsibility he shouldered, not just for the department but for Mike as well, ringing in his ears.

He slammed the fridge door, turned off the light and headed upstairs to his bedroom. Several minutes later, in boxer shorts and t-shirt, having downed two aspirin after brushing his teeth, Steve lay on his bed in the darkened room and stared towards the ceiling. It would be several hours before his mind finally allowed his body to get the rest it needed.

# # # # #

"Bryce took it easy on you this morning," Gerry O'Brien said with a chuckle as he fed coins into the vending machine and pushed the buttons. He glanced at the young cop standing beside him as the KitKat slid out from the metal rings and fell into the well. He bent to retrieve the chocolate bar. "He can be a pretty good egg when he wants to be. He heard about Mike and I think he kinda took pity on you."

Hands in his pockets, Steve snorted, half laughter, half derision.

"Ah, he had nothing on you anyway," O'Brien continued as he started to peel the wrapper off the bar. "You did a great job, Steve, both with the investigation and on the stand. You should be proud."

"Thanks, Gerry," Steve said quietly. He had to admit that Donnelly's painless, almost gentle, cross-examination of him that morning had been baffling, but as he was functioning on less than four hours sleep and his mind was still obviously elsewhere, he was grateful.

"Listen, ah, get your butt out of here and back to the hospital and tell Mike I wish him a speedy recovery, okay? I gotta get back in there anyway," the attorney explained, nodding vaguely down the hall in the direction of the courthouse.

Steve glanced at his watch. 1:45. He wondered what was going on at Franklin; when he had spoken to Olsen a little after 8 a.m., nothing seemed to have changed with regards to Mike's condition, and he wasn't sure if the absence of news was a good or a bad thing.

He held out his hand for O'Brien to shake. "Thanks again, Gerry. I appreciate everything you've done for me, uh, you know, with all this…"

"My pleasure, Steve, believe me. Now get outa here."

# # # # #

Steve strode into the waiting room, looking for Olsen. The older man was standing in the far corner talking to a uniformed lieutenant whom Steve recognized. As Olsen turned and caught sight of him, Steve's eyes rapidly scanned the room, frowning slightly when he caught sight of Marie Olsen deep in conversation with a middle-aged woman who looked vaguely familiar but whom he couldn't place.

Seeing the new arrival, Olsen broke away and crossed quickly. "I was wondering when you were gonna get here," he said anxiously.

"Why? What's going on?" Steve's heart began to pound.

"Relax, it's good news," Olsen said calmly, putting both hands on the younger man's shoulders. "Come here and sit down for a second." With a broad smile, he led Steve to a couple of nearby chairs and sat him down.

"What happened?"

"Well, they got the bleeding stopped quicker than expected and they took Mike into the operating room about 9 this morning. He was out and in Recovery about an hour later and then awhile ago they took him to a private room in the Surgical Ward. Jeannie's with him. He's awake – well, sort of - and he's asked to see you."

Steve's face showed no emotion as he tried to process what he was being told. He started to breathe a little heavier and his eyes and his smile widened. "Uh… you're kidding, right?" he asked quietly.

Olsen chuckled. "About many things, yes, but about this, no. He's asking to see you, Steve."

Suddenly unsteady, the young cop got to his feet. Olsen kept a hand on his arm. "So, uh, where do I go?"

"To be perfectly honest, I have no idea," the older man chuckled again, "but I think if you ask someone at that counter over there, they can tell you."

# # # # #

Steve pushed the heavy wooden door open and stepped quietly into the room. Jeannie, sitting on the stool beside the bed, turned towards him, a smile splitting her face as her eyes found him. "Ooo," she moaned quietly in sympathy as she noticed his black eye and still swollen and sutured lip.

As he moved deeper into the small room, she turned briefly back towards the bed, squeezing her father's hand a little tighter. "Daddy, Steve's here," she announced. He flinched slightly. He had only ever heard her call her father by his first name, a trait he had always found curious but had become accustomed to very quickly. The fact that she called him 'Daddy' only served to underline the worry she was obviously still feeling.

Mike was lying flat on the tall hospital bed, a light blue gown draped over him and a sheet pulled up halfway up. The bulky outline of a bandage could be seen on his lower right chest. He was hooked up to two IV's and a heart monitor. His face was mostly obscured by the oxygen mask as he faced the ceiling, eyes closed.

At the sound of his daughter's voice, he opened his eyes slowly and began to turn his head in her direction. Jeannie gave his hand another squeeze then released it and slid off the stool.

"I'll leave you two alone for a bit," she said quietly, placing her father's hand gently back down on the bed and turned toward the door. She touched Steve's arm lightly as she passed him, but he seemed to have eyes only for her father.

Mike's eyes had found his but he was having trouble focusing. Steve stepped closer to the bed, smiling. He reached out hesitantly to touch his partner's arm, then seemed to have second thoughts and jammed his hand into his pants pocket.

Mike's smile grew a little broader under the mask and his eyes widened as he struggled to scrutinize his young partner more closely. Steve saw his hand move, sliding slowly across the edge of the bed towards him.

Hesitantly, but with a warmth spreading throughout his body, he took his hand from his pocket, wrapped his fingers around his partner's, and squeezed. They stared at each other for several long silent seconds, then Mike closed his eyes, a faint smile lingering as he slipped back into an untroubled slumber.


	5. Chapter 5

Steve sat with his sleeping partner for close to half an hour before he made his way back to the waiting room, a burden lifted from his heavy heart. He was surprised to find Jeannie, Captain Olsen and his wife, and the unknown yet familiar woman from before waiting for him.

Jeannie was beaming as she reached to take his arm and pull him close. "I'm so glad you got to spend time with him," she said warmly as Olsen tried to hide his amusement behind a vigorous nod.

"How are you holding up?" the older man asked, trying to rescue the handsome young inspector from the clutches of his partner's daughter.

With a tired smile, Steve nodded. "Better," he chuckled, "a lot better, thank you."

Jeannie tugged at his arm. "Steve, I want you to meet my aunt, Catherine Bradshaw. She's my Mom's younger sister."

Momentarily startled, but recovering quickly, Steve held out his right hand. "Oh, ah, hi. Steve Keller. I'm, ah, I'm Mike's partner," he stammered, suddenly realizing why she looked so familiar. He had seen the photos of Mike's late wife Helen throughout the Stone house and her sister bore an uncanny resemblance.

"Oh yes, I know who you are," Catherine said warmly, reaching out to enfold the somewhat startled young man in a quick embrace. "I've heard a lot about you."

"From Mike?" Steve asked cautiously, suddenly curious and a little fearful.

"No," Catherine said with a deep, throaty chuckle, "from Jeannie. From what I hear, you're god's gift to Homicide." She flashed a mischievous leer towards her niece, who shot her a silent, wide-eyed warning glare, looking very much like her father for a split second.

The Olsens discreetly masked their amusement with coughs and averted eyes, the captain unable to completely cover his grin. He cleared his throat a little louder than necessary before turning to the teenager. "Jeannie, why don't Marie and I drop you and Catherine off at your place, and we can let Steve go home to get some sleep. I'm sure he's ready for it right about now, right?" He turned to Steve, who was staring at him, a plea for help and rescue now so evident in his eyes.

Mrs. Olsen, quick on the uptake, turned to the younger woman. "Jeannie, why don't you pop in and say goodnight to your Dad and Rudy'll bring the car around to the front entrance."

Reluctantly releasing Steve's arm, Jeannie nodded. "Sure, that's a great idea. I hope we see you tomorrow, Steve. Take care of yourself." She gave him a quick buss on the cheek before turning abruptly and heading off in the direction of her father's room.

"Come on, Steve, I'll walk you out to your car," Olsen said, grabbing the younger man's arm and steering him towards the exit.

They had walked to the front entrance in an uncomfortable silence before Steve found his voice again. "Does Catherine live nearby? I didn't think Mike and Jeannie had any –"

"No, she and her family live in Kansas City," Olsen cut him off, grateful for the change in topic. "They moved out there about ten years ago. I knew her slightly back when they lived in town here and Helen was still alive. You know, dinner parties and that sort of thing. I just figured Mike might need some help when he got home and I didn't think he'd want Jeannie to miss any more school, seeing she's off to U of A next year, so I called Catherine and asked if she could come out and give them a hand."

"That was a good idea. It's great that she could come."

"Well, she and Mike always got along really well so it wasn't much of a stretch. I'm just glad it worked out. It'll be a load off everybody, but especially Jeannie."

They had reached the parking lot, and Olsen pulled his colleague to a halt. "Listen, Steve, I know things seem to be a little overwhelming right now, so I want you to take tomorrow off; you deserve it and you need it. Sleep in, come back here and see Mike again and just take it easy, okay? But we're gonna need you back in the office day after tomorrow. We're swamped right now, as you know, and we can't afford to have two men down. It'd make it impossible to keep up with everything.

"And now, with Mike out for god knows how long, some decisions are going to have to be made with regards to staffing and that's something I'm gonna tackle tomorrow. So I'm gonna need you in the office first thing day after tomorrow, is that understood?"

Steve nodded and Olsen slapped him on the arm. "Good man. Okay, well, you get home and get a good night's sleep and I'll see you Thursday morning, all right? And Steve, you've done great these past two days. I know how difficult it's been and I won't forget it." The captain's smile was warm and genuine.

Steve's own smile was brief and self-conscious. "Thanks, Captain, I appreciate that." Without another word, he turned and continued on to the green Galaxy parked a little further down the lane.

# # # # #

He felt like he was floating. Opening his eyes was not an option at the moment, it seemed, so he just lay there and let the muffled sounds begin to crystallize. He slowly became aware of a slight pressure against the bridge of his noise and his chin, and a throbbing ache on the right side of his chest. His arms felt heavy and he realized there were needles in his forearms and one on the back of his right hand. He could feel the four electrode patches stuck to his chest as well as the unpleasant pressure from the Foley catheter.

As his thought processes began to coalesce, he managed a tiny smile under the oxygen mask. _Well, at least I'm alive._

He tried opening his eyes again and found that he was slightly more successful. The room was almost dark, the glow from the monitors giving the beige walls an eerie luminescence. The room began to spin and he closed his eyes again, trying to take deep breaths but the pain in his chest proved too much to overcome. He carefully placed his right hand over what he now realized was a large bandage and, applying as much pressure as he dared, managed to slow his breathing down till the pain was manageable and the dizziness disappeared.

Try as he might, he couldn't remember how he got there or why. He hadn't been shot, of that he was certain, but that seemed to be all he could recall. He had a vague recollection of his daughter holding his hand, and he thought he could remember seeing his partner, but everything else was a blank.

With no idea what time it was or where, exactly, he was, but somehow knowing he was in good hands, Mike Stone drifted back to sleep.

# # # # #

It was close to 1 p.m. when Steve Keller walked through the front doors of Franklin Hospital and headed towards the elevators. Unable to keep his mind from racing, he had managed to fall asleep near dawn after lying on his bed since his return to the apartment hours earlier, his exhaustion finally winning out.

As he splashed water on his face, he noticed that his right eye was now completely black but thankfully his lip was back to normal, the sutures on the inside now almost completely hidden. He had to get those out, he thought, the laceration healing nicely with no lingering scar.

A call to the hospital had helped somewhat as well, with the news that his partner had had a good night, which unfortunately was all the news the staff would relay to him as he was told, once again, he was not regarded as 'immediate family'. Grabbing a cup of coffee and a Danish from a nearby bodega, he had made his way back to the hospital, determined to spend a little more time with his partner before having to return to work the following day.

Taking a deep breath, unsure of what he would find, he knocked briefly before pushing open the heavy wooden hospital room door, not at all surprised to find Jeannie Stone sitting on a tall metal stool beside the bed. She turned to him, beaming. "Oh, Steve, we were wondering when you were going to get here."

He looked past her to the bed and instantly relaxed. The head of the bed had been slightly raised and Mike, the oxygen mask having been replaced by a more manageable nasal cannula, grinned at him. "Hi," he said hoarsely.

Swallowing heavily, Steve took a step closer and smiled. "Hi yourself," he said with a chuckle. "Wow, you look a lot better."

"Doesn't he?" Jeannie agreed. "They said he's doing really well. Better than expected," she finished proudly.

Mike raised his left hand slightly and pointed vaguely in the direction of the younger man's head. "That's quite the shiner you got there." His voice was low but surprisingly strong.

With another chuckle, lightly fingering his right eye, Steve nodded. "Yeah, I got clobbered too, but not as bad as you." He stopped, suddenly unsure whether to continue in this vein or not.

Jeannie glanced from Steve to her father and seemed to make up her mind. Sliding off the stool, she leaned over the bed and gave Mike a quick kiss on the cheek. "I'm gonna go grab a little lunch and maybe do a little shopping." She looked at Steve with a mischievous grin. "I wanna take advantage of my last day of freedom before I have to go back to school."

"Tomorrow," Mike's voice followed her as she headed to the door.

Turning back as she opened the door, she sighed theatrically. "Yes, father, tomorrow." She looked at Steve once again. "Enjoy your visit with the slave driver here." With a delightful giggle, she disappeared.

Steve took a step closer to the bed, suddenly unsure of how to continue. Mike gestured towards the stool. "Sit."

As he did, the younger man asked, "How are you feeling?"

With a small facial shrug, Mike bobbed his head. "Not bad. Tired. And sore. But hey, I guess we found out one thing in all this."

"Oh yeah, what's that?"

"That I can't take a punch as good as I used to," Mike said with a gentle chuckle.

Steve chuckled as well, relaxing even more, inwardly heartened that Mike was well enough to joke with him. He knew he was going to miss that. "What, they didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"Who hit you."

Mike inclined his head, his brow furrowing. " _Who_ hit me?"

Grinning, Steve leaned a little closer to the bed. "Well, Al Malone told Rudy is was someone called, ah, Rocco, ah, Cosa…? –"

"The Fist?" Mike asked, cutting him off.

"What?"

"Rocco Costantini?"

"Yeah, that's it."

"Yeah, a light-heavyweight. They called him 'The Sinister Fist' because he was a southpaw." Mike shook his head slightly. "That was _him_?"

"Apparently."

"Geez, maybe I got off lucky." Mike looked at Steve sharply. "Are they gonna charge him?"

It was Steve's turn to shake his head. "I have no idea. I forgot to ask. Why, did you lose money on him?" he asked with a smirk, knowing Mike sometimes bet on certain prize fights, especially the local ones.

Another shake of a head, this time a little faster. "No, as a matter of fact, I made money on him once. Quite a bit." He grinned sheepishly. "But I heard, oh years ago, that when he was just getting started back in Mexico in the late '50's, he killed a man in the ring with one punch." His gaze met Steve's troubled stare and they both sobered, then Mike closed his eyes and let his head drop back onto the pillow.

Steve slid off the stool. "Listen, ah, maybe I should get out of here and let you get some rest. Captain Olsen wants me back in the office tomorrow."

Mike opened his eyes. "Yeah, I know. I had a talk with him this morning. Look, ah, Steve, the doctors have told me it's gonna be about two months until I can even think about going back to work." He paused and swallowed heavily with a quick dry chuckle that stung with a bitter inevitability. "Rudy's gonna find somebody to take my place, and you'll be assigned a new partner."

Steve met his apologetic stare and nodded. "Yeah, that's what I figured. You think it might be Devitt?"

"I wish," said Mike with small grin, "but he's up in Sacramento with that task force and I don't think they'll want to let him go. No, it's gonna be someone from another department, I think, a lieutenant. Rudy said he'd know who by tomorrow. So, do me a favor, will ya, and don't give your new partner as much grief as you gave me?" he finished, his face a study in innocence.

It took a few seconds for the words to sink in. Steve stood straighter, an ironic grin slowly building. " _I_ gave _you_ grief?" he asked with a snort and was rewarded by Mike's laughter, which was quickly cut short when the older man grabbed his chest and closed his eyes, his face contorted in agony.

Worried, Steve's hand shot out and grabbed Mike's forearm, holding tight until the older man got the pain under control and eventually reopened his eyes. A silence lengthened between them as Mike fought to bring his breathing back to normal. Steve slowly removed his hand. "Listen, ah, I better let you rest or I'll never get you back at this rate." Reluctantly, Mike nodded. Steve patted his arm and took a step back. "I'll try to get in to see you tomorrow but I can't promise."

"I know," Mike said quietly. "Take care of yourself."

"You too." He could feel Mike's eyes following him as he turned to the door and left the room.


	6. Chapter 6

Steve glanced at his watch again. 9:23. He had gotten to the office a little earlier than usual to get caught up on some paperwork, but when he arrived he realized that if someone was being parachuted in to take over for Mike, they were probably going to use his office. It seemed prudent, Steve thought, for him to clear Mike's desk of personal and private items and he went in search of a small cardboard box, which was now stowed at his feet under his desk.

There was a buzz from the hallway as the glass-paneled door opened and a dark-haired, somewhat stocky older man preceded Captain Olsen into the office. They stepped deeper into the room, stopping just outside Mike's office door and the captain loudly cleared his throat.

"Gentlemen," he announced as every face in the room turned in his direction, "if I could have your attention please." The nine officers, uniformed and plainclothes, on duty that morning, Steve amongst them, got up from their desks and formed a loose semi-circle around the captain and the newcomer.

"Well, as you all know, Mike is going to be lost to us for a couple of months, and as we can't have you guys, uh, 'policing yourselves'," he said with a wry chuckle that some of the others shared, "he's going to be temporarily replaced. I know, I know," he continued quickly, with a laugh, "Mike's irreplaceable," this time the laugh was bigger, "but you know what I mean.

"Anyway," he went on, his smile lingering, "the Chief of D's and I decided that, since Devitt – who was the logical choice – is unavailable, we would assign someone we knew could handle the workload as well as the, ah, 'personnel'," he chose the word and the intonation carefully, eliciting another swallowed laugh. "So, we stole from Robbery. Gentlemen, I know some of you know him already, but for those of you who don't, this is Lieutenant Jack Gallagher."

Olsen began to introduce their new temporary superior to the line-up of Homicide sergeants and inspectors. Steve, who was standing towards the end of the line, watched the Robbery lieutenant with a furrowed brow. He wasn't sure if this was going to be his new partner or not, but in the back of his mind he thought he might be and, if so, first impressions were sometimes the most important ones.

As Gallagher got closer, Steve took his right hand out of his pocket. The new boss finished shaking Sergeant Norm Haseejian's hand and turned towards Steve. Olsen made the introduction. "Assistant Inspector Steve Keller…"

Gallagher's eyes snapped sharply to meet the younger cop's as his hand shot out. "So," he said flatly, which sounded, to Steve anyway, a little sharper and a shade more bitter than expected, "you're Stone's Golden Boy, hunh?"

As Steve looked into the cold eyes and his hand was grasped and squeezed a little harder than was necessary, he felt an icy chill slide down his spine.

# # # # #

"He's just trying to catch up with the open cases right now, he hasn't gotten out onto the streets yet. So I've been working with Norm and Dan on two cases."

Steve was perched on a stool beside the raised bed. Mike was sitting up, looking alert and rested. He was still wearing the nasal cannula but he was down to only one IV line and the heart monitor had been removed. And he was no longer on the Surgical Ward.

"New ones?"

"Nah, remember that merchant seaman whose remains they pulled out of the Bay a couple of weeks ago?"

"Oh yeah, anything new on that?"

"Nope, not yet. That ship may have sailed…" Steve said dryly, trying to hide his grin.

"Oooo, that's bad. That's worse than my puns, seriously." Mike chuckled affectionately. "What's the other one?"

"That junkie found in the alley over on Sutter? Dead ends there too." Steve shrugged. "So, ah, what can you tell me about Lieutenant Gallagher? How well do you know him?"

"Ah, Jack Gallagher. Well, we started together. He was in my class. But I don't know him all that well. I got promoted before he did so our paths sort of diverged, I guess you could say, and he went into Robbery. Been there over twenty years and I haven't heard anything bad about him. He seems to get along with everyone. Why?"

Steve shrugged. "I don't know. Just, you know, if I'm gonna be partnered with him, it'd be nice if I didn't go into it completely unprepared."

"Oh, yeah?" said Mike slowly, eyeing the younger man with genial suspicion. "So, ah, did you do that with me?"

"What?" Steve asked with feigned innocence.

"Did you talk to someone about me?"

"Ah," Steve looked away, trying not to smile, "well, ah…"

"Come on, come on, out with it. Who did you talk to?"

Steve slid off the stool, glancing at his watch and faking a yawn. "Geez, look at the time. I gotta get out of here before they throw me out." He took a step towards the door.

"Come on, coward, tell me who you talked to?" Mike chuckled, trying to make it sound like an order.

Steve opened the door and looked back towards the bed. "You have a good night and I'll try to see you tomorrow."

"Steve," Mike's voice followed him out into the corridor. "Steve!" he heard as the door closed, and his smile lasted all the way to the elevator.

# # # # #

Steve knocked almost hesitantly on the open glass door and waited patiently while Gallagher finished reading a report then looked up. "What do you want, Keller?" he asked gruffly, as if annoyed at being disturbed.

"Um, sir, I know we're swamped, but, ah… well, Mike's getting out tomorrow morning and I was hoping I could pick him up and drive him home -?"

"What?" Gallagher asked, dropping the file onto the desk and leaning back in the swivel chair. "There's nobody else that can drive him home? Doesn't he have a daughter? Or can't he take a cab?"

Suddenly flustered, Steve stammered, "No, no, his sister-in-law is staying with them –"

"Then she can drive him home. What, do you have to carry him up the stairs or something? Hold his hand?" he snarled sarcastically then shook his head in bewildered frustration. "Come on, Keller, you know how many open cases we have right now. I can't have detectives taking personal time in the middle of the day."

Nodding quickly, Steve dropped his eyes. "Yes, sir, I understand. Sorry…" He backed away from the door and turned towards his desk. He didn't see the mocking grin that played briefly over the senior officer's face as he looked down at the report again.

As Steve dropped with barely controlled anger onto his chair, Sergeants Norm Haseejian and Dan Healey exchanged worried and irritated glances behind his back.

# # # # #

"So how are you feeling, Mike?" A metal clipboard in one hand, Dr. Ross Benson plopped himself down on the bedside stool.

"Ready to go home," the police lieutenant said with a wide smile and happy chuckle.

"Well," Benson said with a matching snicker, "nothing's changed in that regard, you're still going home tomorrow morning. But there is something I want to talk to you about before you leave."

Tensing, pulling his head back slightly as he eyed the physician warily, Mike nodded. "Okay. Sounds serious."

Benson took a deep breath and smiled. "Well, it could be, so that's why I want to talk to you about it." He glanced down briefly as if collecting his thoughts. "Mike, you know that the damage done to your liver was because of the broken ribs, right?" When the lieutenant nodded, he continued, "Your liver is healing very well, and it'll be back functioning at a hundred percent before we know it. That's not the problem. It's those two broken ribs that have me a little concerned."

When the physician paused again, Mike asked quietly, "Why is that?"

"Well, Dr. Kline, our resident orthopedic surgeon, was with me during your surgery and he did a masterful job in putting your ribs back together with what are called Kirschner wires; they've been around forever. The K-wires are inserted inside the bones to hold them together, and they work remarkably well. But…well, that's not the problem."

He paused and glanced away briefly. "Mike, I know you want to get back on the job as soon as possible, and I understand that completely, believe me, one old harnessed bull to another. But my concern is, those ribs are never going to be as strong as they were before; the K-wires can only do so much, and I'm just afraid that if you get hit in that same spot again, those ribs're gonna give way a lot easier this time, and that could be an injury you won't be able to recover from."

He stopped talking, meeting Mike's stare evenly, and waited while the gravity of his words sank in. Eventually Mike slowly looked down and took a deep breath, wincing slightly. He exhaled noisily then looked back up into the physician's eyes.

"So what you're telling me is that I should take a desk job?"

Benson shook his head. "No, I'm not saying that, not at all. I think what I'm trying to say is, let's see how you recover from all this, let's see what Dr. Kline can recommend, and then, if we have to do something further down the road to make sure you can go back to work the way you want to go back, then we'll do it. I just wanted to talk to you today about the possibility that you might need further surgery before all this is behind you. Understood?"

Beginning to nod, and with a grateful smile spreading across his face, Mike held out his right hand. "Thanks, Doc. I appreciate your honesty."

Shaking his hand, Benson grinned. "You're very welcome, Lieutenant." He let go of Mike's hand and stood up. "Now you remember what we told you about your first few days home, and we'll see you back here in five days for your follow-up, right?"

"You got it."

"You have someone picking you up tomorrow? Your daughter or your partner?"

Mike dropped his head briefly before looking back up. "Ah, no, my daughter's in school and, ah, my partner, well, he's tied up." There was no mistaking the disappointment in his voice. "My sister-in-law is coming by."

"Well, good. You take care of yourself and we'll see you in a few days."

"Thanks again, Doc. For everything."

# # # # #

The sun set slowly over the ocean, the orange glow lingering as the streetlights randomly flickered on. Diners enjoyed their meals and the views from the Cliff House and the Top of the Mark, while those craving their entertainment a little livelier were boogying down in bars and nightclubs in The Haight and North Beach. The Giants were hosting the Phillies under the lights at Candlestick Park, while pai gow games that would go on long into the night were starting up in the backrooms of Chinatown restaurants. The City after dark was coming to life.

In a grey-blue clapboard apartment on Union Street, a young detective sat in his unlit living room, staring unfocused into the gloom, and wondered about his future.

About a mile away, a recovering police lieutenant lay in a hospital bed, unable to sleep, and worried about his future.


	7. Chapter 7

**To all my devoted, and most appreciated, readers, just wanted to make sure no one missed Chapter Six, which I published earlier but within the 24-hour window of the previous chapter and therefore kinda snuck in unnoticed. Don't want people reading this Chapter before it's predecessor! I won't do that again (publish two chapters within a 24-hour period)!**

Catherine looked across the front seat at her brother-in-law, who was staring out the passenger side window. He'd been very quiet since she'd picked him up at the hospital, offering little resistance as she helped him from the wheelchair and into the front seat of his dark blue sedan. She couldn't quite put a finger on what was bothering him but she was pretty sure it was the absence of his partner.

From the stories that Jeannie had been regaling her with all week, it seemed it had barely taken any time at all for Mike to form a strong bond with the newly promoted inspector. Jeannie had always suspected that her father wished he'd had a son, and this young man seemed to fit the bill. But even she had been surprised at how quickly any signs of the age gap between them had disappeared.

Expecting Steve to be lending a hand this morning, Catherine was surprised when Mike had explained that his young partner 'was otherwise engaged' and wouldn't be joining them. And now his unnatural silence was really beginning to concern her. She knew that Steve had been ordered back to work and she hoped that was the reason, but in the back of her mind was the nagging fear that maybe this bond they shared was more one-sided than Mike would have her believe.

Smiling, she glanced briefly towards him. "Hey, BB, are you okay?"

He turned away from the window, chuckling at the nickname and dropping his head before nodding. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just have a lot on my mind."

"I'll bet," she said sympathetically. "Oh, did I remember to tell you that Jeannie's cooking one of her famous pot roasts for dinner tonight? She bought all the ingredients for it yesterday and even picked up a roast from that butcher that you guys use all the time…uh…?"

"Tony," Mike filled in.

"Right, Tony. Anyway, Jeannie had gotten a list of the things that are on and off your diet for the next little while, and pot roast is definitely on it, so ta-da!"

Mike grinned and chuckled. "I can hardly wait. I think I lost ten pounds trying to eat that hospital food."

"I'm not surprised," she laughed. "Say, why don't you invite Steve over for dinner? He surely can't be working tonight as well."

With a sad smile, Mike nodded. "Yeah, maybe I'll give him a call when we get home."

He turned to look out the passenger side window again, and she could see the smile disappear once more.

# # # # #

Gallagher slammed the phone down as he got to his feet. "Keller!" he yelled as he snagged his suit coat off the rack near the door and shrugged it on. "You're with me. Let's go."

Steve got up from his chair, grabbing his own jacket and slipping it on as he glanced at Haseejian with raised eyebrows. Since Gallagher had replaced Mike as head of Homicide six days earlier, this was the first time they were answering a call together, the first time Steve had any real indication that the former Robbery lieutenant was, in truth, his new, hopefully temporary, partner.

Jogging slightly to keep up with the fast-striding Gallagher, Steve followed him silently out into the corridor and towards the elevators. The older man glanced over his shoulder. "Robbery and assault in a bodega over on Turk. The Korean owner had his throat slit with a broken bottle."

The elevator doors had opened and they stepped in, Gallagher punching the floor and Close buttons almost simultaneously.

Steve glanced sideways as he did up his collar button. "Sounds like a case for Robbery to me," he volunteered tentatively, "why are _we_ going out?"

Gallagher had done up his own collar button and was tightening his tie. "'Cause they don't think he's gonna make it and I want to be there when they get the word. Then it becomes our case." He flipped open his jacket and checked his gun; a standard Police Issue S&W .38. His eyes slid towards Steve's waist and he gestured with his head. "I notice you carry your piece on your left so you cross draw. That works for you?"

Steve smiled with raised eyebrows. "So far. I find it more comfortable."

"Well, to each his own," Gallagher sighed loudly as the doors open and he led the charge into the foyer towards the side door and the parking lot.

Jogging once more to catch up, Steve's smile turned inward. He remembered a similar conversation he'd had with Mike a few days after their first meeting. Mike had remained skeptical until he had seen Steve pull his .38 quickly during their first brief but ultimately peaceful confrontation and from then on he hadn't said a word.

# # # # #

There was a light knock on the door. "Come in," Mike called, glancing up from his book as the door opened and Catherine poked her head in.

"I've just put on a fresh pot of coffee. Would you like a cup?"

"No, thanks," he said, taking off his glasses. He was lying on his bed, propped up against a small mountain of pillows. "Maybe later."

With a sad, sympathetic smile, she crossed to the bed and sat on the edge, laying a gentle hand on his arm. "How are you feeling?" she asked softly.

His smiled at her warmly and nodded. "I'm okay. It still hurts quite a bit, but I guess that's to be expected."

She nodded back, frowning slightly. "Well, from everything I heard, it could have been a lot worse. I'm so glad it wasn't." She rubbed his arm then squeezed.

"Me too," he chuckled.

"Hey, did you call Steve about tonight?"

Mike nodded, briefly looking away. "Yeah, he and his… ah, new partner are out on a call and, from long experience, I know that he's probably not going to get home until late tonight, so, no, he won't be joining us for dinner."

She could hear the disappointment in his voice though he was trying hard to hide it. "Well, maybe he can join us for 'leftover night' tomorrow. You know as well as I do that pot roast is even better the second night."

Grateful that she got him to smile and chuckle, she stood, leaning over the bed and kissing the top of his head. As she started back to the door, she said over her shoulder, "If you change your mind about the coffee, let me know."

# # # # #

"John, what's happening?" Gallagher asked as he and Steve strode past the patrolman guarding the door into the small, now overly crowded corner store.

The tall blond inspector, notebook in hand, turned at the sound of his name. "Hey, Jack, how's it going up there in 'Homicide'?" he said with a laugh.

"It's not so different," Gallagher said with a snort, "'cept the vics are dead. Bob Tomlinson, Steve Keller." He introduced them with nods, and the two inspectors shook hands. "So, whata you got here?"

Steve had glanced around the bodega as they'd entered, noting the plainclothes officer standing behind the counter talking to a weeping older Korean woman and a teenager he assumed to be her son. The boy, obviously translating for his mother, was staring intently at the cop's face, tears silently coursing down his wet cheeks.

"The owner was serving this lady over there," Tomlinson nodded to his left where a middle-aged woman was talking to another officer, "when some guy that was standing in line suddenly went berserk. He picked up a bottle of wine from that shelf over there, smashed it against the counter and then lunged over the counter and drove it into the owner's neck. Then he took off up the block."

"And you think the owner's not going to make it?"

Tomlinson shook his head. "Not with the amount of blood he lost, no. So, you gonna take over?"

"We'll wait 'til we get the call, but yeah."

"Your first, hunh?" Tomlinson asked with a chuckle.

Gallagher, who had been scanning the store, looked back at him and grinned. "Yeah, you got a problem with that?"

Continuing to laugh, Tomlinson shook his head. "No, sir, but it's a good thing you got Keller here, hunh, to show you the ropes?"

Steve started to shift uncomfortably, trying not to smile, when Gallagher turned sharply towards Tomlinson, the warmth gone from his eyes. Both inspectors froze, startled. The lieutenant suddenly relaxed, a small smile starting to build. "Yeah, of course. I need all the help I can get, right?" he said with a dry chuckle.

Steve glanced at Tomlinson, whose neutral expression told him nothing.

# # # # #

"Well, it's official. The owner died about ten minutes ago so it's now our case." Gallagher hung up the mic and got out of the black-and-white. Steve fell into step behind him as they moved back towards the bodega. "Bob!" the lieutenant called across the store, "it's ours officially now. The owner's dead."

There was a piercing cry, like a wounded animal, from behind the counter, and Steve turned sharply. The owner's son had frozen, his eyes wide, both hands over his open mouth, staring at them. His frantic mother was looking quickly from Gallagher to her son, tugging on his sleeve. He said something to her quickly and quietly, and she screamed, dropping out of sight behind the counter as her hands came up to cover her head.

Steve shot an angry look at the lieutenant, then stormed towards the counter. With a fierce backward glance, he disappeared below the level of the counter, then stood, his arms wrapped around the thin shoulders of the tiny, sobbing woman. He had pulled her head to his chest, and he spoke quietly to the Robbery inspector who had been interviewing them but was now just standing by, rattled. The inspector took the son by the arm and gently guided him along as Steve led the distraught woman outside.

Gallagher watched them go, his face registering no emotion, then he turned to the remaining officers in the store. "Okay, fellas, Robbery's no longer running the show here, so most of you guys can go. Homicide is taking over. Bob, you and Gary stick around and fill me in on what you have so far. And I want two unies to stay as well."

# # # # #

Steve watched as the owner's widow and son were taken care of, gently ushered into the back of a black and white to be escorted home. After the unit drove away, he stood on the sidewalk for several long moments, trying to gain control of his anger. He knew it wouldn't do anybody any good, especially himself, if he confronted Gallagher in his present state of mind.

Taking deep steadying breaths, he tried to calm his pounding heart. He couldn't believe how reckless and unconscionable Gallagher's conduct had been. Maybe he had spent too many years working with victims who were still alive and kicking but he was in Homicide now and he wasn't a rookie. There was no plausible excuse that Steve could discern, except maybe pure callousness.

His emotions finally under control, he approached the entrance, taking a deep breath before stepping inside. He had no idea how Gallagher would react to his borderline insubordination. God, he missed Mike…


	8. Chapter 8

Steve stepped over the threshold. He scanned the cluttered store and his wary eyes quickly settled on Gallagher, behind the counter, seemingly in consultation with the two remaining inspectors: Tomlinson and someone he had yet to be introduced to but whom he guessed was Gary.

Gallagher glanced his way on Tomlinson's nod. "Keller, get your ass over here. I need you to take some notes."

Swallowing a sharp retort, and his pride, Steve dug the notebook out of his pocket and slid the pen from the spiral binding. Joining them behind the counter, he nodded at the one man he had yet to meet. "Steve Keller," he said quietly.

"Gary Kozlowski," the short blond said pleasantly, holding out his right hand and Steve gave it a quick shake then looked expectantly at Gallagher.

The lieutenant held Steve's stare for a brief second, as though debating whether to comment on the younger man's behavior, then, with a quick, almost imperceptible, shake of his head, as if putting paid to the brief defiance, turned back to Tomlinson.

"So, do you think it's our old friend 'Shady'? I mean, I know he's unpredictable but he's never gotten violent before."

Tomlinson nodded. "I know, but everything both the wife and her son told us, and that lady in the line ahead of him…I don't know, it sounds like 'Shady' to me."

"I know we've arrested him time and again for petty theft, but I've heard recently he's been getting deeper and deeper into the drug scene. Suppose he's started taking something like LSD and he had a bad trip?" Kozlowski suggested tentatively.

Gallagher and Tomlinson turned to him, frowning. Steve was frantically scribbling in his notebook, trying to keep up. Gallagher finally nodded and faced Tomlinson again. "Sounds good to me. Okay, thanks, you guys, we'll follow up on this."

He turned to Steve. "Let's get back to Bryant and get all the info we can find on 'Shady', like where he's crashing now. They have that in the files in Robbery."

Snapping his notebook shut, Steve nodded and began to follow Gallagher from the store. He was grateful that nothing had been said, but he had the uncomfortable feeling that nothing had been forgotten, or forgiven, either.

# # # # #

"Thanks again, sweetheart. I really needed that." Mike got up from the table slowly, his left arm across his stomach and his hand over the bandage on his ribs.

"You're welcome, Daddy," she said brightly, standing quickly and reaching out to take his arm. At his sharp glance, she pulled back, smiling apologetically.

"I'm, ah, I'm tired, I think I'll just head up and go to bed." He smiled at his daughter and his sister-in-law, turned slowly away from the table and disappeared through the kitchen door.

Jeannie sat back down. "Good lord, he just got home today and already he's pining for that damn job." She tossed her napkin on the table in frustration.

Catherine leaned forward and laid a hand on her niece's forearm. "Jeannie, he's still in a lot of pain. Once he starts to feel better, I'm sure he's gonna be able to put all of this in perspective and realize it's only going to be a few weeks till he's back to work." She smiled and shook the younger woman's arm. "Don't sell him short. He's a bright guy; he knows he has to get better before he can get back to work. And right now he's just a little overwhelmed with everything that's happened to him."

"I know you're right, it's just –"

"Jeannie, don't take this the wrong way, you're still young, you don't understand how much someone's vocation, what they choose to do for a living, can get all tangled up with how they see themselves. Your Dad is at the top of his game; what he does is very important, and he's so very good at it. But now he's got to step back from it for awhile, a long while, and I'm sure there are a lot of things going through his mind, obstacles both real and imagined, that he thinks might prevent him from ever going back to that job. It's got to be a little frightening."

Jeannie had looked away while her aunt talked, taking it all in. She looked back at Catherine with tears in her eyes. "I hadn't thought about that. Thank you. And you know, I think he misses being with Steve too, don't you think?"

"Oh yes, no doubt about that. I've only met Steve that once but I can definitely see why he and your Dad became close." Catherine stood, picking up her dinner plate. "Just give your Dad some time and some space. He needs it right now, and you'll both be better off for it." She nodded towards the table. "Now, my dear girl, let's get started on those dishes."

# # # # #

"So, yeah, we just knocked. Nobody answered so Gallagher tried the door and it opened and we just walked in and there was this 'Shady' character –"

"Aptly named," Mike interjected dryly and everyone chuckled.

"Right," Steve nodded, laughing. "He was just lying there, on this god-awful, filthy, stinking mattress – I thought I was gonna throw up - sorry – and he's covered in blood, not his as it turned out. Gallagher woke him up and we put the cuffs on him and he just followed us out, meek as a lamb." Steve reached for his wineglass and took another sip.

"Well, good for you, Steve," said Catherine with a proud smile, raising her own wineglass, "your first homicide solved without the maestro here." She gestured towards Mike, who rolled his eyes. "You better watch yourself, BB – when you get this young man back, he might not need your guidance anymore."

Jeannie, at first unsure just what her aunt was trying to do, relaxed when she realized the direction Catherine's comments were taking. Somehow she had managed to build them both up as well as tying them closer together. She raised her own glass, of ginger ale, and clinked it against her aunt's. "Here, here."

Steve swallowed his sip of wine, glancing from Catherine to Mike and back again. "Okay, I have to ask. 'BB'?"

"Oy," Mike sighed, looking down, while Catherine and Jeannie chuckled. Steve glanced from the women to Mike, who looked up from under his lowered brow at his sister-in-law and gestured for her to be his guest.

As Steve turned his curious green eyes towards her, Catherine swallowed a smile and put her wineglass down. "Oh, it's not all that mysterious or even apocryphal; it's barely interesting," she started with a laugh.

Steve just bobbled his head, looking at her under raised eyebrows.

"Oh, all right. Just after the war, Mike started dating my sister. There were only the two of us girls and Helen was three years older than me. Well, being the little sister, I was kinda jealous at first – he was a real charmer, our Mike." The older man hung his head even further, eliciting chuckles from everyone at the table. "He still is…"

Without looking up, Mike raised his right hand and began to rotate it in the universal gesture for 'keep it moving'. With a throaty laugh, Catherine continued, "Well, when I realized he was only ever going to treat me like his little sister, then I started calling him 'Big Brother' – which eventually I shortened to 'BB'. And I've been calling him that ever since." She shrugged.

Steve, who had begun to grin, turned to his partner and cocked his head. "Aww..." he sighed, dragging out the one syllable until Mike's head came up, the blue eyes steely cold.

"Don't… even….think –"

Steve quickly threw up his hands. "Never," he laughed, looking quickly to Catherine and Jeannie, who joined in.

"All right, that's it," Mike said suddenly, clapping his hands, "it's time for dessert." He looked pointedly at his daughter.

"Yes, sir," she said with a laugh and a quick salute as she got up and crossed to the stove.

Catherine stood up. "Why don't you gentlemen retire to the living room and Jeannie and I will bring in the pie. Steve, do you want vanilla ice cream with yours?"

Taking the napkin off his lap and laying it on the table as he stood, Steve nodded. "That sounds wonderful, thank you."

"I know what Mike likes so you two just make yourselves comfortable and we'll be right in."

When the men left the kitchen, Catherine took the ice cream out of the freezer and turned to her niece, who was cutting the pie. "Mike sure is a different person when Steve's around, isn't he?" she asked in a whisper.

Jeannie nodded as she slid a piece of the apple pie onto a small plate. "Told ya," she grinned. "They're good for each other."

# # # # #

"So what's bugging you, buddy boy?"

With Jeannie and Catherine in the kitchen doing the dishes, the men finally had time alone.

Startled, Steve shook his head slightly and met the older man's intense stare. "Nothing," he said lightly, sounding slightly bewildered. "Why?"

Mike's expression didn't change. "I know we haven't been together all that long, but I think I've gotten pretty good at reading your moods. And I think something's bothering you." He paused. "Am I right?"

This time Steve's denying smile was slower to appear. "Nothing, really," he repeated with another vague headshake. He met the blue eyes evenly, hoping he looked more confident than he sounded to himself.

Truth be told, he desperately wanted to talk to his former partner about what he was going through, but he knew that Mike's health was the most important concern right now. Steve was well aware that, although he was now home, Mike was a long way from a complete recuperation and his continuing recovery was dependent upon a number of factors, and the less stress and worry he was subjected to, the better.

"You know you can talk to me about anything, right?" Mike said quietly, and there was such compassion in his voice that Steve felt his resolve slightly bend.

He swallowed heavily and nodded, then masked his unease with a warm smile. "I know." They stared at each other silently for several long seconds.

"Here we go," Catherine announced as she entered the living room with a heavy tray, crossing to the coffee table, Jeannie in her wake carrying the percolator. Steve jumped to his feet to give her a hand but she waved him off with a shake of her head.

"It's okay, I've got this. If you could just move that magazine," she indicated with her chin and he did so. "So, Steve, how do you like your coffee?" She turned to him after depositing the tray.

"Oh, ah, black with a little sugar, thank you," he answered, sitting back down and nodding his thanks at Jeannie, who grinned back. Mike eyed them both warily.

Catherine turned to Steve with a cup on a saucer. "There you go, sir." After serving Mike and herself, she curled up on the sofa near her brother-in-law while Jeannie perched on the sofa arm beside her. "I'm afraid this is going to be it for us, Steve. I'm going home on Sunday and I probably won't get a chance to see you again before then."

A bit startled, Steve leaned forward, putting his saucer on the table. "So soon?"

"So soon?" she echoed with a chuckle. "It's been almost two weeks and I think my kids are driving my husband crazy. Besides, Mike's doing great," she smiled at her bother-in-law, reaching over to lay a hand on his arm and squeeze, "and he'll be fine on his own while Jeannie's in school."

Mike nodded, a melancholy smile briefly playing over his features. Jeannie was watching her father a little sadly. She knew that Catherine reminded Mike of her sister, and he enjoyed her company in ways he would never admit. Even Jeannie found herself relating to her aunt as she would her mother. She slid her arm around Catherine's shoulders and pulled her close, and a poignant silence filled the room.


	9. Chapter 9

Steve followed Gallagher down the rickety stairs and through the narrow corridor. Between the peeling green paint and the single light bulb dulled with fly excrement, it was a dreary scene that only got worse when they stepped into the large cement-walled room festooned with a half-dozen slightly rusty washing machines and one lone dryer.

Moving past the patrolman guarding the door, they moved deeper into the room. Sergeant Norm Haseejian and Inspector Randy Walters were standing between the two rows of washers, staring at something on the floor.

As Steve got closer he could see the Assistant Medical Examiner kneeling on the floor over the body of a young blond woman. She was on her back, her arms and legs askew, head thrown back and her eyes open. She was dressed in shorts, sandals and a tank top; there was a black leather belt pulled tightly around her neck.

Steve stopped short, taking a quick deep breath and looking away briefly. She was definitely younger than he was.

"So, Norm, whata ya got?" Gallagher asked as he bent over the M.E.'s shoulder.

With a quick glance at Steve, Haseejian flipped back through his notebook. "Her name is Sheila Anderson and she lives in the building. Apartment 3D. She's 24, married; her husband's name is Roger and we have no idea where he is right now. The landlord seems to think he doesn't have a job."

Norm gestured over his shoulder. "It looks like she'd come down here to do her laundry – there's some clothes in the washer over here, and that basket is still half filled."

Steve glanced behind him at the laundry basket and plastic bottle of detergent sitting on top of a washing machine. The lid of the next machine was open.

"As far as we can tell, there's no sign of a struggle; it looks as if she was approached from behind, the belt was slipped over her head and she didn't have the size, or the strength, to put up a struggle."

Gallagher nodded, staring at the body. "John," he addressed the M.E., "do you agree? Manual strangulation?"

The coroner's assistant looked up. "Until Bernie opens her up, that's my guess."

"Any sign of sexual assault?" Gallagher looked at Haseejian.

"Not that we can tell right now. The woman from 1D was coming down to do her laundry and she said this guys flew past her in the corridor and out the door. She didn't get a good look at him but we got a description of his clothes, white t-shirt and jeans. Dark hair. Tall. She walked in here and found her."

"Where is the witness now?"

"We let her go back to her apartment with a uniform. She was pretty shook up."

"Okay." Gallagher nodded, glancing around the room. "Thanks, Norm, you guys can go. Keller 'n' I'll take over from here."

Confused, Haseejian looked from the lieutenant to Steve and back again. "Excuse me, sir," he began, trying to keep the displeasure out of his tone, "but Randy and I caught this one. It's –"

"I know," Gallagher cut him off, "but I'm taking over. You guys can catch the next one." He looked at the sergeant with a conciliatory grin that did nothing to lessen the tension. "Who knows – it might be a socialite up on the Nob." Turning away almost dismissively, he leaned over the M.E.'s shoulder again.

Haseejian glared at Steve, who shrugged sympathetically, then snapped his notebook closed and strode away, Walters trailing behind.

Without looking up from his examination of the body, Gallagher barked, "Keller, go find that landlord and find out all you can about the vic and her husband, then talk to the witness again."

Taking a deep, but silent, breath, Steve once again swallowed his frustration as he crossed back to the door, pulling his notebook out of his jacket pocket.

# # # # #

"Thanks for coming in, Lieutenant. I know you didn't have a scheduled appointment today so I'm glad you could make it."

"No, problem, Doctor," Mike said as he took off his fedora and sat in the large leather chair in front of the heavy wooden desk. "And, ah, call me Mike, please. After all, you've had your hands in my chest." They both laughed.

"All right, Mike, I will. Thanks." Dr. Kline leaned over his desk, resting his forearms on the blotter. "So I guess you know why I asked you in today. I know Dr. Benson talked to you before you were released."

"Yeah, it's about my ribs, right?"

"That's right. Now, I don't have anything specific to tell you today, but I have been giving it a lot of thought and I have a couple of ideas I'd like to run with. And what I need from you today is, well, I need to take some measurements of your chest."

"Measurements?" Mike asked, brow furrowing.

"Yeah, I, ah, I have something in mind but I don't want to tip my hand right now in case it doesn't work." He smiled genially. "Are you game?"

"To get measured? Sure."

"All right," said the doctor enthusiastically, getting to his feet. "Then come with me, I have a colleague you need to meet." As he crossed to the door, Mike fell into step behind him. "He's really amazing at molding plaster casts."

"Plaster casts?!"

# # # # #

"Anderson is waiting for us in the interview room. One of the unies found him in one of those bars the landlord said he frequented and they just brought him up."

Steve had stuck his head in the doorway of the inner homicide office. Every time his eyes fell on the 'Lieutenant Michael Stone' lettering on the glass door, he heart skipped a beat. Gallagher looked up from the report he was reading. "Great, let's go," he said, getting to his feet.

They were halfway to the interrogation room when Gallagher said sharply over his shoulder, "I'm taking the lead on this so just sit there and take notes."

There was a barely perceptible hitch in Steve's stride as he followed his partner into the glass-walled room.

# # # # #

"What's wrong, kid?"

Haseejian's voice floated softly across the gap between their desks. The sun had gone down and the desk lamps were the only illumination in the office, and they were the only two still there.

Steve rubbed his hands over his face and into his hair, sighing loudly. "Ah, Norm, what am I gonna do?"

Sliding his wheeled chair closer to the younger man's desk, the Armenian sergeant snickered dryly. "So what's he done now?"

Chuckling, Steve shook his head wearily. "For starters?" he asked with a heavy sigh.

Haseejian laughed. "Well, he already has the husband convicted and going away for life. And the problem is… I don't think he did it."

Haseejian looked at him in bewilderment. "Are you sure?" he ventured carefully.

Steve looked at him for the first time, turning his chair around to face the older man. "I don't think I've ever been more positive about something in my life."

"Okay," the sergeant said slowly, "present your case."

"What?"

"You heard me. I've got the time and so, it seems, do you. Tell me why you think the husband didn't do it."

Pulling his head back slightly and staring at his colleague with amused skepticism, Steve waited several seconds, glanced once more at Mike's office door then, with a wry smile, leaned forward. "All right," he said slowly, and for the next ten minutes he laid out his own theory of what had transpired in the laundry room of the Polk Street apartment.

When he had finished, Haseejian leaned back in his swivel chair and grinned but remained silent.

Eventually Steve prompted, "So?"

"He's not going to listen to you, you know that, right?"

Another heavy sigh. "Yeah, I know. He's the big lieutenant and I'm the wet-behind-the-ears assistant inspector and he knows best."

"You're also Mike Stone's protégé and, I don't know, Steve, but something about that just burns his butt. You must know that, right?"

Exhaling loudly, Steve dropped his eyes and nodded. "Yeah, I know. And for the life of me, I don't know why. According to Mike, they barely know each other."

"You talked to Mike about him?" Haseejian asked sharply.

"No, no," Steve assured him quickly, "I haven't said a word. I want to make sure he's way beyond the road to recovery before I even think of bringing this up. And I'd rather never have to tell him, ever. No, when he found out that Gallagher was taking his place, he just filled me in on the background they shared. It was just conversation, nothing more."

"Good, good," the sergeant relaxed, and Steve smiled to himself. It was gratifying to know Mike was held in such high regard.

"But," Steve continued heavily, "that doesn't help me right here and right now. I don't want him railroading this guy, Norm, and I don't know what to do to stop him."

"Steve, in your opinion, do you actually believe he thinks the husband did it, or is it just incompetence?"

"God, I don't know, I really don't. I don't _want_ to think it's incompetence, because he's been in Robbery for over twenty years and he has an exemplary record. Maybe it's like Mike says, not everyone's cut out for Homicide. Maybe he's in over his head and he knows it and he's scared – and maybe he thinks that if he solves this quickly, all those insecurities'll go away. I don't know…"

Haseejian let the silence lengthen before he spoke. "Maybe. Or maybe he's just a jackass who, for some obscure reason, has it in for you, or Mike." He started to roll his chair back to his desk. Steve's suddenly worried eyes followed him. "Think about that, my young friend," the Armenian sergeant said heavily.

# # # # #

"No, no, I understand. Well, you just do what you have to do and make sure you get yourself a good night's sleep, okay?... Oh, and ah, you know, when you get some time, well, Jeannie and I'd love to have you over for dinner again… Yeah, you be careful, you hear me? And don't work too hard." Mike laughed warmly, his grip tightening slightly on the handset. "Yeah, I will. Goodbye."

Mike hung up the phone then sat there staring at it. Jeannie, who had been watching from the kitchen entrance, gave him a few seconds, then she backed silently into the kitchen, cleared her throat and strode into the living room.

"So, the dishes are done. You feel like playing some cribbage or rummy?" she asked brightly, hoping to break his mood.

Mike looked up, a warm smile building, but shook his head. "No thanks, sweetheart, I'm a little tired tonight." Subconsciously his left hand drifted towards the bandage on his chest. "I think I'll just turn in, but what do you say we go to a movie tomorrow night?"

Jeannie grinned. "That sounds like a date, Mike," she giggled, slipping an arm through his as he got to his feet and started slowly towards the stairs. "How are you feeling?"

"It's still a little sore," he smiled down at her, "but getting better every day. I'll be back at work before you know it."

"Of course you will," she agreed enthusiastically, gripping his arm a little tighter. "Sleep well." He leaned down to give her a quick kiss, then she released his arm and she watched as he slowly climbed the stairs.

When he disappeared into his bedroom and shut the door, she turned around and glared at the telephone. Was Steve avoiding her father deliberately, or was he really just tied up with work? She wished she could talk to Steve face-to-face, to tell him how much his absence was hurting her father. But in reality it was none of her business; these were two grown men and she had no true conception of what their professional relationship was like, beyond what she had observed over the few meals they had shared around the Stone dinner table.

She was old enough to realize that their partnership was much deeper and more complex that she could ever know, even though they had been together less than a year. And she also knew that it would be up to them, and them alone, to overcome any hurdles, actual or illusory, that now stood in their paths.

But this knowledge didn't do anything to stop her from worrying about her Dad.


	10. Chapter 10

"Captain, have you got a minute?"

Olsen looked up from his desk and the open file in front of him. His frown quickly turned into a warm smile. "Steve! Sure, come on in. Have a seat."

The young inspector stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

"What can I do for you, Steve? How are things in Homicide? You and Jack getting along? How's Mike doing?"

Steve dropped into the leather office chair with a heavy sigh and chuckled at the older man's enthusiastic barrage of questions. He pointed to the papers on the desk. "Are the reports really that boring?"

Confused, Olsen looked down at the desk. The light dawned and his face slowly creased into a grin. "Oh, yeah, sorry about that. I've been alone in here all morning with this paperwork and I guess I'm going a little stir-crazy."

"Well, as far as I know, Mike's doing great –"

"What do you mean, 'as far as you know'?" the captain cut him off. "When was the last time you saw him?"

Steve dropped his head and exhaled loudly in frustration. "It's been almost a week. I just can't seem to find the time. We've been really busy and when I do get some time free, it's too late at night to bother him."

"Haven't you had a day off?"

Steve shook his head. "Not for over a week." He rubbed his hands over his face for emphasis. "I'm getting a little beat."

"No kidding. What's Jack doing over there? Do you want me –?"

"No, no, no," Steve held up both hands, "I can handle it, it's okay. Actually, that's part of what I wanted to talk to you about." He paused, trying to figure out how best to broach the subject. "Captain, that case we got last week, Sheila Anderson, the woman murdered in the laundry room of her building?"

Olsen nodded. "Yeah, I remember. The husband did it, right?"

Steve took a deep breath. "Well, that's what I want to talk to you about. Sir, I don't think he did it."

Olsen leaned back in his chair and studied the young man in front of him. "Why do you think that?" he asked slowly.

"A lot of reasons."

"Any of them concrete?"

Another deep breath and a playful smile. "Not yet, just a lot of hunches and a really, really strong gut instinct."

There was a long pause; finally Olsen nodded. "Something you learned from Mike no doubt?"

"He may have had some influence on me," Steve agreed with a chuckle.

"And, ah, Jack Gallagher? How are you two getting along?"

The younger man looked away, and the smile turned wry. "Well, ah, let's just say, he's not Mike."

Olsen chuckled. "So who is?" He leaned over the desk. "So tell me, what's going on between you and Jack?"

Shaking his head slowly, Steve studied the floor before looking up. "I have no idea, Captain, I really don't. But right from the first time we shook hands, I got the feeling that he has a very low opinion of me, and for the life of me, I can't figure out why."

"I didn't get that impression but, then again, I was only there when you two met. Have you guys ever crossed paths before?"

"Not that I know of. I mean, I've heard of him but never met him. And even Mike told me they knew each other when they first joined up but then Mike got promoted first and their careers took different directions. So no history there either, as far as I can tell."

Olsen looked down, collecting his thoughts. "Well, all I can say right now, Steve, is just to hang in there and ride this out the best you can. I know that sounds pretty lame, but Mike should be back in a month or so and then I'll ship Jack back to Robbery and hopefully everything will right itself. How does that sound?"

Steve snorted. "Hunh, that sounds great, I just don't know if I can handle working with him for another month, to be perfectly honest. But I guess I have no choice." He paused then met the older man's eyes evenly. "But, Captain, what do I do about the Anderson case? I can't let him railroad the husband, I just can't."

Olsen gave the question some thought before answering. "You're right, of course. You can't. Okay, this is what I want you to do. Keep working with Gallagher as if nothing's going on but, on your own time – and I'm well aware you have precious little – you can dig further into the Anderson case and, if you're right, do what you need to do to clear the husband. Even if he's under arrest right now, it'll be months till it gets to court so you have time."

Steve had begun to nod enthusiastically as his superior went on. Olsen put up a calming hand. "Now you have to promise me you won't get anybody else involved in this, none of your colleagues and especially not Mike, am I understood?"

With a grim smile, Steve nodded. "You have my word."

"All right. And if at any time in your investigation you come to the conclusion that just maybe Jack Gallagher was right and you were wrong, will you be man enough to admit it?"

Frowning suddenly, the younger man sat back and studied the captain. Eventually a warm smile began to spread. Nodding, he leaned across the desk and held out his right hand. "It's a deal, Captain." They shook hands.

"All right. Now get your ass out of here before anyone sees you and get back to work." As Steve got to his feet, Olsen continued, "And do me a favor, will ya? Go and see Mike. He's gotta be goin' crazy being housebound and not hearing from anybody."

"Yes, sir, I promise," Steve said with a grin as he crossed to the door. "And thanks, Captain."

# # # # #

Haseejian looked around nervously.

"Would you settle down," the other man calmly requested. "Nobody can see us way back here and I've been in here for over an hour so there's no way anybody can put us together."

Bobbing his head in acquiescence, the Armenian detective sat back in the booth and eyed his companion. "Hey, I have to admit, it's great to see you. It's been way too long. How are you doin'?"

Mike smiled. "I'm doing great, Norm, thanks for asking, and it's good to see you too." He leaned over the table. "Look, before we get started, I just want to reiterate what I said over the phone. Nobody will know we met today, I can guarantee you that. They'll never find out from me."

Haseejian nodded. "They won't find out from me neither, you have my word."

"Good. Oh, ah, I took the liberty of ordering your lunch. A Reuben and French fries, am I right, with a Coke?"

Haseejian put down the menu he had just picked up and chuckled. "Memory like a steel trap. Yeah, you're right."

"Good," Mike grinned, "it'll be here in a couple of minutes."

His own grin disappearing, the Homicide sergeant leaned over the table. "So what is it you want to know, Mike?"

The older man sat back and put both hands on the table. "Jack Gallagher. Just what's going on with him and Steve?"

Haseejian froze then slowly leaned back. "What do you mean?" he asked noncommittally.

Mike smiled coldly and cleared his throat. "Don't play me for a fool, Norm, I know something's going on. And it's not what Steve's told me, it's what he _hasn't_ told me."

He leaned forward slowly, putting both forearms on the table, and stared into his colleague's wary eyes. "I know something's going on, and I know it's between Steve and Jack. And what I want from you – _all_ I want from you – is just confirmation that I'm right."

The sergeant met the icy stare evenly and said nothing.

"It's still my squad, Norm. I'm coming back, and I want to come back to the same group of detectives that were there when I left. And I'm beginning to get the feeling that that might not happen if things continue to go the way they're going. Am I right?"

A strained silence lengthened between them, neither giving way. It was several long uncomfortable seconds before Haseejian very slowly closed his eyes then nodded. His expression unwavering, Mike returned the nod and sat back, his blue eyes continuing to bore into the now almost contrite sergeant.

The waitress appeared with a large tray and, rightly sensing the tension in the air, silently laid the plate, glass, napkin-wrapped cutlery and condiments on the table in front of Haseejian, who glanced up gratefully. Without taking his eyes from his table companion, Mike nodded his thanks and she quietly withdrew back into the bar.

Avoiding Mike's eyes, Haseejian reached for the cutlery and unwrapped the napkin, laying the knife and fork on the table.

"Don't think of this as betraying Steve, Norm. Think of it as being loyal to me."

With a heavy sigh, Haseejian finally looked up into the now sympathetic blue eyes. "What do you want to know?"

# # # # #

"Where have you been?" Jeannie demanded as Mike opened the front door.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," he said quickly as he closed the door and tossed his keys onto a sidetable. "I went for a walk, that's all. You know I was told to get out and do some walking."

"In the car?" She was glaring at him with folded arms.

Mike swallowed before answering. "I, ah, I got tired of wandering up and down the street – these hills are a killer, you know, for someone in my condition. So I drove to Baker Beach and walked on the sand."

"And that was easier, walking in the sand?" she asked sarcastically.

"Well, yeah," he said with an equal amount of snide, "it was flat."

With a cynical snort, she turned and strode towards the kitchen. "Dinner's almost ready. Go wash up."

Mike rolled his eyes and exhaled loudly. He had spent more time with Haseejian than he had counted on, and then had gotten caught in rush hour traffic. He knew she didn't believe him but he also knew she would never suspect what he was really up to.

# # # # #

Steve was making a cryptic list of leads he was intending to follow in the Anderson case when he heard the phone in Mike's office ring. "Gallagher, Homicide." He winced, knowing he would never get used to hearing that.

He half-listened as Gallagher asked the usual questions, and a quick glance confirmed the lieutenant was making hasty notes. Anticipating the inevitable call to action, Steve flipped the top of his notebook closed and opened his top drawer to drop it in when Gallagher got up from behind Mike's desk and started towards the coat rack to grab his jacket.

Gallagher, pausing in the doorway to shrug on his coat, glanced into the bullpen. He seemed to hesitate for a fraction of a second before yelling, "Walters, you're with me today! Let's go!"

Inspector Randy Walters' head snapped up, mouth open in surprise, and he shot a confused look to Haseejian before rapidly standing and pulling his jacket from the back of his chair.

Equally stunned, Steve was glaring at Gallagher, who was studiously avoiding everyone's stare as he tugged his coat into place and started across the room, pulling the inner office door closed behind him. As Walters fell into step behind the lieutenant, still reeling from the shock, Steve looked at Haseejian, who could only raise his eyebrows, shake his head and shrug.


	11. Chapter 11

"Jeannie, my god, what can I say? This is amazing!" Steve effused after swallowing another big bite. "I don't think I've ever had moussaka as good as this."

A beaming Jeannie looked at her father in triumph, and he laughed and nodded. "I told you my daughter could cook anything," he said proudly. "And you look like you could use the calories. How hard have they been working you lately?" he asked, with more concern in his voice than he intended.

It had been nine days since Steve had graced them with his presence, the absence having taken the hardest toll on Mike. Not being able to even visit the office let alone have any contact with the members of his squad, that anyone was aware of, was proving to be a uphill battle, but one he was learning to deal with.

Steve reached for his water glass and took a sip before answering, knowing he had to choose his words carefully. "Well, we've had a number of what Galla- – sorry, the lieutenant – calls 'low-priority murders' – a couple of prostitutes and three homeless guys in the 'Loin." Mike rolled his eyes in annoyance. "He's working on a businessman they found bludgeoned to death at The Fairmont –"

" _He's_ working on it? Aren't you working with him?" Mike asked, cutting him off.

Steve cleared his throat self-consciously. "No, ah, he decided to take Randy with him on this one." He raised his eyebrows and smiled innocently with a shrug but he knew Mike wasn't swayed by his dismissal of the seriousness of the situation.

Jeannie, glancing from one to the other and correctly reading the gravity of their discussion, looked to her father. "Do you want a second helping, Mike?" His appetite had been waning in the past few days and she was desperate for him to eat a full meal tonight, hoping his former partner's presence would be an inspiration.

Pulling his eyes from his young friend, Mike looked warmly at his daughter, knowing what she was trying to do. "Sure, sweetheart," he smiled, "give me another spoonful." He held up his empty plate and she took it with a grin.

"Steve?" she asked over her shoulder as she crossed to the stove.

Wiping his mouth on his napkin, he picked up his now-empty plate and held it towards her. "Oh yes, please." He smiled at Mike in an attempt to relay to the older man that everything was all right and not to get involved.

Mike stared at him without expression for several long moments, then smiled slightly and dropped his gaze to the table. "So, do you think you can get away one night next week? The Giants have a homestand and I'd really like to get to a game."

Grateful that the subject had been changed, Steve grinned back. "I'll see what I can do."

# # # # #

Lieutenant Gallagher stepped out of the elevator and started across the asphalt in the underground garage towards his personal car. He pulled his tie loose and undid his collar button then slipped the keys out of his jacket pocket. He opened the door and sat behind the wheel, reaching for the door to pull it closed when it was stopped abruptly.

"What the -!" he exclaimed as he turned quickly and looked up into the grim visage of Mike Stone. "What the hell, Mike," he growled angrily, releasing his grip on the door handle and turning halfway in the seat.

Mike took his hand off the window frame and took a step back. "Get out of the car, Jack," he said quietly, his voice calm but firm.

Gallagher's eyes flashed in anger but, continuing to stare in defiance, he climbed out and slammed the door. "What the hell's going on?"

"Don't play innocent with me, Jack," Mike said smoothly but with the merest hint of menace, "you know very well why I'm here. What kind of game are you playing?"

Gallagher was glaring at him furiously, then his features softened slowly and an icy grin appeared. "This is about your _boy,_ isn't it?" he snarled sarcastically.

"What are you doing, Jack? Getting your jollies by making everybody else's life miserable? I thought you were better than this."

Gallagher seemed to relax and leaned casually against the car, folding his arms. Continuing to grin coldly, he said smoothly, "I have no idea what you're talking about. Things are moving along very smoothly in Homicide right now, haven't you heard? Or who have _you_ been talking to? That light-weight former partner of yours?" His smile got a little wider as he watched Mike tense with anger.

"Really, Mike, what do you see in him? He couldn't investigate his way out of a paper bag. I've had to bench him, you know; he just couldn't keep up. I'm working with Walters now and he's head and shoulders a better cop than Keller'll ever be."

Mike, keeping a grip on his rising animosity, waited until Gallagher stopped talking. He took a step closer and saw Gallagher flinch slightly; he smiled inwardly. "Are you finished?" he asked quietly with unmistakable intimidation and watched as the other man's cocky grin disappeared.

"Those are my men you're working with, my squad, and I want all of them here when I return. And each and every one of them is a better cop, and a better man, than you are proving yourself to be." He took another step forward and Gallagher uncrossed his arms, letting his hands drop to his sides and tensing slightly.

"And as for Steve," Mike continued, "he is the finest cop, and the finest man, I've ever had the privilege of working with, and he's gonna be a better cop than any of us or that any of us will ever see. And if you screw him up, if you screw with his mind and make his life such a living hell that he wants to transfer or quit – if you plant the slightest seed of doubt in his mind that he isn't the exemplary police officer that everyone else seems to know that he is – I will personally tear you apart."

By now Mike was nose to nose with Gallagher, and the shorter man's bravado had all but disappeared. He swallowed heavily but met the cold blue eyes with surprising restraint.

Satisfied that his point had been made, Mike took a step backwards. "Enjoy your time in Homicide, Jack. Your days are numbered. And I'm the one who's doing the counting. Don't forget that." With one last challenging glare, he turned and calmly walked away.

As Mike disappeared around a row of cars, Gallagher relaxed, releasing a held breath. He opened the door and got back in behind the wheel, bending down to pick up the keys that had fallen from his grip when he'd been startled. Appalled at the uncontrollable trembling in his right hand as he tried to slide the key into the ignition, he glanced angrily once more in the direction Mike had gone, slamming the steering wheel with his left hand and bellowing an expletive.

# # # # #

It was close to 10 a.m. before Steve made it to the Hall after spending the morning in Records. He was doing research in two areas – the prostitute homicide he was currently assigned to and, clandestinely, the Anderson case. Head down, studying the cover page of one of the files in his hand, he opened the door to the Homicide office and was met with a cacophonous roar.

Startled, he glanced around as he picked his way through the well-heeled crowd to his desk. He finally caught Walters eye and frowned a question.

"Hotel guests and potential witnesses," Walters mouthed then shrugged. Even from across the room, Steve could make out the 'quotation marks' around the last two words.

With a skeptical snort, Steve finally made it to his desk, dropping into his chair and glancing at Haseejian, whose raised eyebrows, eye roll and heavy sigh told him all he needed to know. And he knew only too well how they all hated these 'cattle call' interviews.

He was just taking his jacket off when he heard his name called and looked up to see Gallagher staring at him from the door to Mike's office. Getting warily to his feet, and with another quick glance at Haseejian, Steve started towards the office.

By the time he stepped inside, Gallagher was once more sitting behind the desk, staring down at some papers and an open notebook. "Close the door and sit down," he ordered.

Steve did as he was told. The closed door dampened the noise from the bullpen but it also served to underscore the silence that began to lengthen inside the small glass-walled office. Eventually, Gallagher looked up and met the younger man's eyes, but still he said nothing. Steve waited.

Finally Gallagher spoke, and his voice was so quiet that Steve had to strain to hear him. "I was wondering how long it was going to take."

Confused but trying not to show it, Steve waited a few seconds before saying equally softly, "I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about… sir."

A cold smile crept across Gallagher's features but failed to reach his eyes. "Really? I find that hard to believe." He paused and the smile disappeared. "For you to go squealing to your 'Daddy'."

Steve's heart skipped a beat and he blanched for a split second as the meaning of the words sank it. Then he shook his head slightly. "I'm sorry, I still have no idea –"

"He came to see me last night," Gallagher interrupted smoothly and Steve froze. "He accused me of trying to mess with your head." He chuckled mirthlessly. "Is that what I'm doing, Keller? Messing with your head?"

Steve could feel a hot flush engulf him and the room spun suddenly but he managed to keep himself under control. He took two deep breaths, meeting Gallagher's cold-eyed stare evenly before he could trust his voice. "I've never said anything of the sort, sir –"

"Oh, I know _you_ didn't say it," the lieutenant interrupted him once more. "And from what I've seen from you these past few weeks, I believe you. But somebody talked to him, of that I'm absolutely sure. And when I find out who it is, well, maybe I'll let you decide what to do because, well, you do realize they broke a trust, right?" With a nod towards the bullpen, he hissed, "Somebody out there double-crossed you."

Gallagher leaned back, secure in the knowledge that he had won. "And just so you know, I'm not going anywhere, Keller." He shrugged with a sarcastic smile. "Well, at least not for few weeks. So, you can either live with that … or not. It's your choice. But when you go out into that bullpen, you're gonna know there's a traitor out there. Just another something messing with your head, right?"

With a mirthless laugh, Gallagher tipped his chair forward and leaned once more over the desk, picking up a report with a dismissive air.

"Leave the door open."

His chest heaving slightly, and staring at the top of Gallagher's down-turned head, Steve got slowly to his feet and crossed to the door. The clamor of the larger office assaulted his ears once more as he opened the door and stepped out into the bullpen. As he slowly made his way back to his desk, his angry stare fell unnoticed on the Armenian sergeant at the adjacent desk, industriously interviewing a middle-aged socialite.

# # # # #

"Hello?"

" _Lieutenant Stone?"_

"Speaking."

" _Hi, it's Doctor Kline. I hope I didn't catch you at a bad time."_

"Of course not, Doc, what can I do for you?"

" _Well, I was wondering if you could come in to see me tomorrow around 10 a.m. at the hospital. We've come up with something I want you to see and, well, if you agree with us and you think it'll work for you, I want to schedule surgery for you sometime on the afternoon of the following day. How does that sound?"_

"Ah, that sounds fine. Um, wow, okay, ah, okay, I'll see you tomorrow morning at 10."

" _That's great. So, ah, we'll see you then. Have a good night."_

"Thank you, you too, Doc. Good-bye."

Jeannie popped her head in from the kitchen to find her father sitting on the sofa with a perplexed look on his face and one hand still on the phone. "Who was that?"

"Hmm?" he grunted, then shook his head slightly and looked up at her. "Oh, ah, that was Doctor Kline. They want me to come in tomorrow morning." He hadn't told his daughter about his potential rib problem, and possible future surgery, and still didn't feel it was the right time. He decided to wait until he had met with Kline in the morning. "Just a follow-up, you know."

"Oh, okay. You want another cup of coffee before I empty the pot?" she asked over her shoulder as she returned to the kitchen.

"No thanks," he called after her as he began to stand. He was halfway to his feet when the pounding on the front door began. Startled, he looked at the door then called towards the kitchen. "I'll get it!"

With a frown, wondering who would be making such a racket at this time of night, he pulled the door open and froze. He was astonished to find Steve standing on the stoop, his face flushed with anger, hands on his hips, obviously upset. The young man's fierce green eyes bored into him and his voice was low and hostile. "What the hell did you do?"


	12. Chapter 12

Recovering quickly, Mike shot a quick glance over his shoulder then stepped out onto the stoop and closed the door. Steve, who had taken a step back and looked away, drawing in another deep breath, faced him again but before he could say anything, Mike pointed down the stairs.

With a defiant, furious glare, but keeping his mouth shut, Steve turned and started down the concrete steps. Closing his eyes with a deep inhale, blood starting to pound in his ears, Mike took a beat then followed him down.

Stepping onto the sidewalk, Steve spun towards the older man. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Mike began to raise his hands in a placating gesture, tilting his head.

"You went to see Gallagher? About me?" The younger man's voice was beginning to rise above the sotto voce level he had started in. "What makes you think you had that right?"

"Look, Steve –"

"Who did you talk to? It was Norm, wasn't it?"

Mike began to shake his head, trying to get a word out. "Steve, I –"

Steve snorted bitterly. "Yeah, it was Norm." He shook his head viciously, turned away for a split second then looked back defiantly. "So what is it? You don't think I can fight my own battles? You don't think what? I'm not smart enough? Not old enough? Not experienced enough? What?"

"Of course you're –"

"Really? I'm not getting that impression." He snorted again, his disappointment and exasperation unmistakable. "You know, I could accept that from some of the others, but you? – God, I never expected this from you…" His shook his head vigorously, and looked away.

Mike lowered his hands, his expression a mixture of guilt and sadness. "I made a mistake – "

"You think?!"

"I was worried about you, all right?!" Mike snapped, his own anger exploding, and saw Steve take a step back, startled by the sudden vehemence. He took a deep breath and fought to control his temper and his tone. "I know Jack's treating you lousy, I know he's being a bastard. How do you think that makes me feel, sitting here," he nodded towards the house, "not being able to do anything about it? That is still _my_ homicide squad, those are still _my_ men and I'm still the boss!"

He paused and took a deep breath, continuing to meet the younger man's angry stare, his cocked head letting Steve know that he wasn't finished yet. When he got himself under control, he continued, "I was hoping Jack would have the decency and self-respect to keep our little … encounter … to himself, but I guess he's showing his true colors, isn't he?" Mike blew out a heavy sigh and looked away briefly. "All right, you win, I apologize. Yes, it probably was a mistake… and I'm sorry. And yes, he is probably going to continue to make your life a living hell and there's nothing I can do about it … and I'm sorry about that too. But I don't regret doing it and I'd do it again in a heartbeat."

Steve stared at him, calming slightly. "Then why didn't you come to me first? Why didn't you tell me you talked to Norm? What, you don't trust me?"

"Of course I trust you," Mike spat out, beginning to lose his temper again. He brought his hands to his face and wiped them over his nose and mouth, taking a deep breath, then dropped them and sighed. "Maybe… maybe I thought that you wouldn't listen to me, that you wouldn't let me help - and I really didn't want to hear that… so I, ah, so I went behind your back."

"You infantilized me is what you did, Mike," Steve said with a tired, sad sigh. "You treated me like the kid that everyone thinks I am - my 'daddy' going to the confront the bully for me."

"Steve, I never meant –"

The younger man held up a hand and shook his head with a derisive snort. "It's okay, you've said all I want to hear. And believe me, I've been hearing it all lately." He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. When he looked back at Mike, there was a sadness in his eyes that almost took the older man's breath away. "I just never thought I'd hear it from you."

"I never meant to hurt you or betray you, Steve, you have to believe me. I really don't think I've treated you like a kid – at least I hope I haven't - and if I ever did, then I apologize. I never realized I was doing it." He paused. "Our partnership, and our friendship, means a lot to me and if I've put it in jeopardy … I don't know what I can do about that. I really don't." He paused, finished, then added with a sad sigh, "But please don't blame Norm. I didn't give him a choice."

He met Steve's eyes evenly, uncertain of how his words were being received. The younger man had calmed down considerably, and now he just stood there, hands on hips, head down, breathing slowly and deeply.

Mike waited, and hoped. He had meant every word he had said; it was now out of his hands.

Eventually Steve's head came up and he looked into the older man's worried but challenging blue eyes. He snorted mirthlessly and shook his head.

"I am getting so sick of all this right now. I don't who I'm more disappointed in – you or me," he said under his breath, glancing down then back up defiantly. "Just so it's very clear, I am not your _boy_ and I am not your son," he saw Mike flinch and close his eyes but he pressed on, "and I would appreciate it if you would let me fight my own battles. And if I ever need your help, I'll ask for it. Do you understand?"

He turned abruptly and strode across the street to his Porsche. As Mike watched helplessly and silently from the sidewalk, Steve got behind the wheel and drove away without a backward glance.

As the sports car disappeared around the corner, Mike, suddenly drained, slowly crossed to the concrete steps and sat.

# # # # #

Watching from behind the living room curtain, Jeannie's hand tightened on the heavy material and a small cry escaped her lips as she watched her father slowly sit on the bottom step and put his head in his hands. She had observed the entire episode, knowing better than to try to intervene, realizing that she might be witnessing the end of not only their partnership but their friendship. She had no idea what had happened to spark the argument, but she knew both men had been under tremendous strain recently, for different reasons.

She pulled the curtain closed and stepped back into the room, not wanting him to know she had been an unwilling spectator. She returned briefly to the entrance to the kitchen, checking once more that all was tidy, then turned off the light and went upstairs to her bedroom and closed the door.

She knew he would need his space when he finally decided to come back into the house.

It would be almost an hour before he finally did.

# # # # #

The bitingly cold wind coming in off the Bay made him turn up his collar even more but it wasn't enough to move him from the rocks. He had driven from Potrero Hill straight to the cliffs near Eagles Point. He'd always loved the view across China and Baker Beaches towards the Golden Gate Bridge; it was a good place to empty your mind.

But it wasn't working tonight.

As the last rays of the sun disappeared and the sky turned a deep twilight blue, he replayed over and over again the scene on the sidewalk in front of Mike's house. Never in his wildest dreams or darkest nightmares would he ever have pictured going through something like that with the man he had come to consider his mentor and closest friend.

Now, with the perspective of time and distance, albeit neither of any great length, he was wondering just how much of their relationship could be salvaged. He couldn't believe the words that had come out of both their mouths; maybe too much had been said to be able to forgive and forget.

He had no idea how long he sat there, all but oblivious to the pounding waves on the rocks, the stars appearing in the inky darkness. Eventually he began to shiver in the cold late summer air and he got up stiffly and went back to his car.

# # # # #

"Mike, glad you could come in. You remember Dr. Ross, don't you?"

Smiling, Mike reached out and shook the young resident's hand. "Yes, I do."

"Good to see you again, sir."

"Well," Kline cleared his throat as all three sat, Ross on the edge of Kline's desk, "we've come up with something that we're really quite excited about. Now you know we talked about some way to strengthen or protect those two damaged ribs of yours, and we've bandied about a bunch of ideas. But we both became excited with this one. Donny?" he gestured for the younger man to take over.

Almost trembling with excitement, Ross got to his feet, crossed to the credenza, picked up what looked like a small canvas bag and brought it back to the table. Gently, he reached into it and removed what Mike could only characterize as a small black metal wing. "Ta-da!" Ross said softly as he put it on the table.

Both doctors looked at Mike expectantly. He, in turn, was staring at the 'thing', trying to figure out what it was. After a couple of silent seconds, he looked up and shrugged with a quick shake of his head.

"Ah, let me explain," said Kline with a small laugh. "That, Mike, is a metal plate molded in the shape of your lower right rib cage. Remember the plaster mold we did of that part of your chest? Well, that's the result."

Still a little confused and unsure of what the doctor was driving at, Mike nodded tentatively.

Kline's smile broadened. He pointed at the wider top part of the plate, where there were five small holes, then again at the narrower bottom, with its three small holes.

"What we are proposing, and we think it will be highly successful, is we implant this plate in your chest, under your ribcage, attaching it to the completely healthy ribs above and below it with titanium screws, which we use in this type of surgery all the time." He picked up the plate. "This is made of Kevlar. Here, take it."

He handed it to Mike, who took it gently, turning it over in his hands. Kline nodded towards Ross, who took up the narrative again.

"Feel how thin yet how strong it is. Kevlar is this new material they've come up with that they're using now in bulletproof vests and the like. It's going to have a lot of uses in the coming years for a lot of different things."

"We can plant this in your chest, under your ribs - between your ribs and your liver -and chances are you're not even going to know it's there. You might have a bit of a restriction bending forward very sharply because it won't be as flexible, of course, as your natural ribcage, but it will provide you unparalleled protection for those damaged ribs should you ever get hit in that same spot again." Kline leaned back with an enthusiastic grin.

Mike, who had been turning the plate over and over in his hands while both doctors talked, looked back at Kline. "So, ah, have you done this kind of thing before?'

Kline and Ross exchanged a glance before Kline cleared his throat and smiled. "Well, ah, no, not actually. Um, as a matter of fact, nobody's ever done this kind of thing before. We'd be the first."

"Unh-hunh," nodded Mike with an ambivalent smile.

"You'd, ah, you'd kinda be our Guinea pig," Kline said quietly with a lightness in his tone.

"I see," Mike said equally quietly, staring at the plate as he laid it on the desk. The doctors exchanged another nervous look.

Slowly, Mike leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs. He inhaled deeply. "What time did you say you want me to check in tomorrow?"

# # # # #

"They said I'm probably gonna be in for three or four days, just to make sure, you know," Mike called from his room while he packed an overnight bag. "So I don't want you missing any school. You can come to visit me in the evenings, all right?"

"Yes, sir!" Jeannie called up the stairs. "Dinner's almost ready, so you better wash up." She walked back into the kitchen and turned off the stove. Mike hadn't said a word to her about what had transpired the previous night, and she knew better than to ask. As far as he was aware, she hadn't seen a thing. If and when he wanted her to know what was going on between him and Steve, he would tell her, she hoped.

But that didn't stop her from worrying about both of them. She couldn't imagine Mike going on without Steve in his life.

The phone rang and she reached back to pick it up. "Hello?"

"Jeannie, hi. It's Rudy."

"Hi, Uncle Rudy. You want to speak to Dad?"

"Yes, thanks," he said, and she could tell from his brusque tone that he wasn't in the mood for small talk.

"Just a sec." She put the receiver against her shoulder and stepped into the living room. "Mike, it's Uncle Rudy!" she yelled in the general direction of the staircase.

"Thanks, sweetheart!" Mike yelled back and she heard the click as he picked up the extension in his room. "Yeah, Rudy, what do you need?" she could hear him say.

Mike heard a similar click on his line as Jeannie hung up the phone in the kitchen. Olsen waited till he heard it as well before he exploded. "What the hell is going on between you and Steve?!"

Momentarily startled, Mike stammered, "What?" How could Olsen know about last night, unless Steve told him? "Rudy, what are you talking about?"

"Well, something must be going on."

"Why?"

"Because he just left my office. He's put in his papers to be transferred out of Homicide."


	13. Chapter 13

Jeannie sat at the kitchen table, waiting. It had seemed forever since she had heard her father close his bedroom door just after his conversation with Captain Olsen had begun, and there was still no sign of him. The bedroom door remained shut.

She glanced at the wall clock. It had been more than fifteen minutes and she was beginning to worry. She got up and crossed to the stove, turning off the burners and lowering the temperature in the oven. She had the uncomfortable feeling that dinner was going to be delayed.

With a heavy heart and step, she moved into the living room and up the stairs. She quietly approached the master bedroom door and paused, listening. There was no sound from within.

Closing her eyes and holding her breath, she raised her right hand and gently knocked. When there was no response, she called out, hoping her tone didn't sound scared and desperate, "Mike, is everything okay?" Nothing. Taking a deep breath, knowing she could be making a huge mistake, she reached for the knob and opened the door.

Her father was sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees and his chin resting on his steepled hands. His gaze was turned inward and she was pretty sure he wasn't aware she was standing in the doorway.

Her heart constricting with worry, she crossed the room silently and, moving the overnight bag out of the way, carefully sat beside him and slipped both hands around his upper arm. "Daddy," she said softly, "is everything all right?"

He continued to stare straight ahead, and she waited, watching him slowly breath and blink, for a couple of very long minutes. Eventually he started to move his head slightly, and he looked down, taking a deep unsteady breath. She moved her right hand from his arm and rubbed it soothingly across his back. She could feel him start to shake.

"Daddy," she whispered, "talk to me, please. I'm worried about you."

Very slowly he turned towards her and she could see the tears in his eyes. She caught her breath, her grip on his arm tightening.

# # # # #

The front door of the Union Street apartment opened, and Steve Keller, a large duffel bag in hand, stepped out onto the stoop. He locked the door then maneuvered the bag down the narrow steps.

He unlocked and opened the driver's side door of the Porsche, tossing the duffel into the small space behind the front seat, then slipped behind the wheel. With a final glance back up at the dark apartment, he started the car, pulled it into a tight u-turn then gunned it up the block and around the corner.

# # # # #

"Talk to me, Daddy," Jeannie whispered again, laying her head against her father's shoulder.

He looked back down at the floor, inhaling deeply and raggedly. His silence was frightening her more and more.

Taking a deep breath of her own, knowing that she was laying everything on the line here, she lifted her head and stared at his profile. "Mike," she said firmly, knowing that using his first name would get his attention, "you've always told me that we need to talk out our problems, not bottle them inside. You and Mom did it all the time, and you've always made me do it too." She saw his eyes focus and knew she was getting through. "I know you still think of me as just your little girl, but I'm all grown up now, Mike. And I want to be here for you just like you've always been there for me."

She felt his rigid posture begin to ease, and he turned once more to face her. His sad, lost look began to soften into a warm barely perceptible smile and he gently removed his left arm from her grasp and put it around her shoulders, pulling her close. He took a deep breath then looked away. "Jeannie," he said softly, "I've made a horrible mistake."

# # # # #

The Porsche accelerated up the ramp. The rush hour traffic had thinned out considerably and the Bridge was flowing smoothly. Steve swung the sports car into the left lane of the lower deck, passing the slower drivers with ease.

He was across the span quickly, and as the skyline of The City disappeared behind him, pushed the car to a speed he knew would be tolerated by the CHP as he headed down the 80 towards Nevada.

# # # # #

"What did you do?" she asked gently and watched at he closed his eyes again, breathing deeply.

"I think I've destroyed the best friendship I've ever had," he breathed with such sorrow in his voice that she could barely contain her surprised gasp.

She froze briefly, her mind racing, then tightened the grip of her arm around his back and said softly, "I don't believe that." When he started to nod, she shook her head slightly. " _You_ might think you did, but I don't think so." She paused, knowing she needed to take charge of this situation if anything was going to be done.

Suddenly a memory came flooding back. She had been about four, she thought, and she remembered standing in the hallway outside this very room, the door slightly ajar. Her parents were on the bed, her father enfolded in her mother's arms. She was rocking him and stroking his back, something her Mommy did with her. Daddy was crying. She had never seen her Daddy cry and she had stood transfixed, her mouth open, startled and afraid.

Years later, recalling that scene, she'd asked her mother about it. She'd always remembered her mother's first words. "Your father is a very sensitive man, honey. He feels things very deeply." Then she went on to gently explain that Mike had taken a life that day in the course of duty, and Jeannie finally understood.

Releasing her hold on him and slipping out from under his arm, she crawled to the head of the bed, piled the pillows up against the headboard and leaned against them. He had turned to watch her and when she met his gaze, she patted the bedspread beside her and gestured with her head for him to join her.

Shaking his head in amazement, smiling slightly, he repositioned himself beside her against the pillows, putting an arm around her and pulling her against his chest. She slid her hand across his stomach to hold him, careful to avoid the bandage covering the incision on his right side.

Settled, she asked quietly, "What happened?" She felt his chest expand as he took a deep breath, but when he didn't say anything, she ventured carefully, "I saw you and Steve last night. He was mad at you."

She felt him freeze almost imperceptibly, then she heard and felt a mirthless snort. "He had every right to be," he said finally, and she knew now that he would begin to talk.

"What did you do?" she prompted.

There was a lengthy silence before he sighed. "I let him down. I thought I knew how to handle things better than he did. I treated him like a kid … and he's not a kid. And I didn't trust him to do the right thing."

She could hear the self-recrimination in his voice and she tightened her grip on him. And she waited, knowing that he would open up even more but in his own time.

And he did. Slowly and simply, he told her everything that had happened in the past few weeks since his hospitalization. He left nothing out, including his own coercion of Norm Haseejian and his ill-conceived confrontation with Jack Gallagher. She listened silently.

"So what did Uncle Rudy have to say?" she asked gently when he had finished and lapsed into another grim silence. She knew the phone call had been the catalyst that had led to this evening's implosion.

Another deep breath, another loud exhale. "Steve's put in his papers for a transfer."

Jeannie's head came up and her grip on him tightened even more. "Oh, Mike," she gasped, her heart breaking for her demoralized father.

He squeezed her firmly, smiling wryly and shaking his head. "I've really messed everything up, haven't I?"

They lay quietly in each other's arms for several long moments. "What are you going to do?" she asked finally and felt him shake his head slowly.

"I don't think there's anything I can do." He sounded so overwhelmed and heartbroken that she almost couldn't breathe.

Suddenly she pulled away from him and stared at his upturned face. "I don't believe that. And I don't think you do either." Her tone had turned so forceful and accusing that his eyes snapped in her direction. She pushed herself up into a half-sitting position and glared at him. "What are you saying to me? That you're giving up?" Not allowing him any time to reply, she snapped, "I'm sorry, but the Mike Stone I know doesn't give up. The Mike Stone I know doesn't hide from his problems. Am I right?" Her blue eyes bored into his, daring him to argue.

He pulled back slightly, brow starting to furrow in confusion. "What are you doing?" he asked tentatively.

"What do you think I'm doing?" she snapped back rhetorically. "I'm trying to find my father, the man who fights for what's important in his life."

Stung, he opened his mouth to snap right back at her then stopped. She held his angry stare, every inch her father's daughter. After several long tense moments, knowing he had met his match, he began to smile, shaking his head. Her face lit up and she giggled, leaning forward to wrap her arms as best she could around his neck and hug him. He pulled her against his chest and bent down to kiss the top of her head. "How did I become the luckiest guy in the world all of a sudden?" She lay against him quietly, listening to his heartbeat, ecstatic to have her father back.

"So, ah, what can I do to start to …. redeem myself here?" he asked, a defeatist tone in his voice that broke her heart.

"Talk to Steve?" Jeannie suggested carefully.

"Rudy said he asked for a week off and Rudy gave it to him. And I have a feeling he's not going to be anywhere around here for the next seven days or so. I think he wants to put as much distance as he can between us right now. So that's out."

Jeannie nodded.

"Maybe, ah, maybe I should postpone the surgery until I get everything straightened out –"

"Why?" she interrupted him, pulling from his grasp and sitting up. "Didn't you tell me that you need this so they'll let you go back on the streets again?" When he nodded, she continued, "Then get it done now and by the time Steve gets back, it'll be over and done with and you can go back to work. Doesn't that make sense?"

He thought about it then nodded. "And then what?"

She paused then looked at him more closely. "You told me about all these really sleazy things this Gallagher has done to Steve and, well, you never mentioned anything about why. And I know you must have thought about that – I mean, why does a guy who has an otherwise spotless record suddenly become such a jerk, so… what? Do you know?"

Mike looked at her under a furrowed brow. "You mean, do I know why he's being such a bastard?"

"Yeah."

There was an uncomfortable pause. "Well, no," he admitted and she sat back with a smug grin.

"So who's the better detective in the room right now?"

Smiling and shaking his head, he reached out to playfully swat her and she ducked, giggling. He stared at her, the love shining in his eyes.

She smiled back. "We have a lot to do. You, finish getting packed, and I'm gonna try to salvage what I can of our dinner." Sliding from the bed, she called over her shoulder as she crossed to the door, "I'll call you when dinner's on the table."

He sat up and watched her go, suddenly feeling more optimistic than he had in days.


	14. Chapter 14

He woke slowly, the familiar intense ache in his right side there once again and his head swimming. He could feel the IV needle in his arm, the electrode patches on his chest and the oxygen cannula under his nose. He could only marginally open his eyes; everything was blurry and he stopped trying to focus.

"Well, Mr. Stone, welcome back," a pleasant female voice reached his ears and he could feel a soft, reassuring touch on his upper chest. "Everything went perfectly and you're doing great. You just rest and I'll let Dr. Kline know you're awake." He felt another gentle pat on his left forearm and he closed his eyes and drifted off again.

# # # # #

Beer bottle in hand, Steve stood on the small wooden porch and stared at the calm lake. He had lucked out – there was one small cabin still available when he had arrived very early that morning. He had driven through the night, too keyed up to even have to worry about falling asleep behind the wheel, then had spent the rest of the day buying supplies and settling in.

He was trying to keep busy, doing anything to keep his mind from wandering back to those harrowing moments on the sidewalk in front of the De Haro house and the sinking feeling that his life had suddenly taken a direction he didn't want it to go.

Draining the last of the beer, he stepped back into the cabin, dropped the empty into the case by the door and glanced around the large one-room structure. With a fridge and stove but no telephone, he knew it was just the refuge he needed to begin what he assumed was going to be the arduous task of starting his life all over again.

It wasn't something he looked forward to with any degree of pleasure.

After a few seconds of indecision, and with a quick backward glance out the screen door, he crossed to the duffel bag on the floor and rooted around till he found his bathing suit. Tossing his clothes on the bed, he donned the trunks, grabbed a towel and headed towards the water.

Hoping the lake had retained some of the summer's heat, he hoped he could use up whatever remaining energy he had so he would fall asleep without his mind racing. Something told him deep peaceful sleep would be a scarce commodity in the coming days.

# # # # #

"Mike, everything went just like textbook, if we'd had a textbook for this kind of procedure," Kline said with a laugh.

The fact that the doctor looked so pleased and relieved brought no small amount of relief to still woozy police lieutenant. He tried to grin and failed miserably, bringing another chuckle from the genial middle-aged surgeon.

"Still a little dizzy, hunh?

Mike nodded carefully, trying not to compromise his fragile equilibrium.

"Yeah, we had to keep you under a little longer than expected, but it wasn't a problem and it won't adversely affect you in any way. It just means it's going to take a little longer to get the anesthetic out of your system. You should be fine in a half-hour or so."

Mike nodded again, blinking slowly.

"We'll have you moved up to a private room shortly, and we're gonna keep a close eye on you for the next 48 hours but if all seems well after that, home you go. And, if there are no complications, and I'm not expecting any, believe me, most likely you can be back to work in two weeks. How does that sound?"

This time Mike was a little more successful when he grinned.

# # # # #

The sun was down when he awoke, sprawled on top of the double bed, still in his clothes. The strain of the last 36 hours, the long drive and the vigorous swim had finally taken their toll, and though he had only laid down for a brief catnap it had somehow stretched into the majority of the day.

Groping around in the dark till he found the bedside lamp, he switched it on, frowning at the dim light. He would have to get brighter bulbs if he had any hope of doing any reading after sunset.

He got up slowly and looked around. He was hungry but really didn't feel like cooking at the moment. Remembering the small lakeside town he had driven through on his way to the cabin, he found the car keys, locked up the cabin and headed towards civilization.

# # # # #

The main street of the small town was lined with bars and, though it was September, there were still a good number of college students in attendance, it seemed. Walking past the bars with the loudest bands and rowdiest revelers, Steve stopped in front of Charlie's Joint, intrigued by the quiet aura that seemed to emanate from the large dark wood front door and the curious menu, not to mention the cheap beer, advertised on the sidewalk chalkboard.

He was nursing his second beer, and working his way through a small plate of surprisingly tasty shish-kebobs, when a good-looking brunette plopped herself down on the bar stool beside him. "Bob," she called to the bartender, "glass of house white, please?"

"Sure thing."

He was taking a sip of beer when she suddenly turned to him. "Haven't seen you in here before." Her voice was deep, throaty and instantly sexy and he could tell she was at least his age, if not slightly older.

Steve turned to her with a warm smile, not at all upset at being addressed. "No, I, uh, I just got in today."

"Ah," she said with a slow nod. The bartender put the glass of wine on the bar in front of her and, after nodding her thanks, she picked it up and turned to Steve. "Welcome," she said lightly, lifting her glass in a small salute.

He did the same with his beer bottle.

"Gonna be here long?" she asked, not taking her eyes from his face.

With a short laugh, slightly taken aback but intrigued by her cheek, he cocked his head slightly. "You mean in this bar tonight – or in the area?"

"Good point," she shrugged with a small laugh of her own, "I should be more specific. Area."

He hesitated a moment before answering. "Oh, a few days maybe, maybe a little longer."

"Ah ha," she snorted, turning to face the bar again, "a man with a plan. You gotta love that." Then she laughed.

Steve, staring at her under a furrowed brow, began to laugh as well. He held up his bottle once more, bringing it close to her wineglass. "Steve Keller."

She turned to look at him again, her face alight. "Glad to meetcha, Steve Keller. I'm Beth Daniels." She clinked her glass against the bottle.

They both laughed and took sips of their drinks. And for the first time in weeks, Steve thought he might start to enjoy life again.

# # # # #

"How are you feeling, Daddy?"

The soft familiar voice penetrated the fog in his brain before he was even aware he was waking up. He opened his eyes, blinking several times before he could focus, but he managed to squeeze her hand. He felt her lips against his cheek.

"How long have you been here?" he asked hoarsely as he found his voice, turning slowly towards her.

"I just got here," she grinned. "Don't worry, I didn't miss any school, I promise."

"Good girl."

"I talked to Dr. Kline. He said it went perfectly and you can go home in a couple of days."

Mike nodded slowly and her brow furrowed.

"Are you in a lot of pain?"

He tried to take a deeper breath before he answered her. "A bit."

Knowing her father as well as she did, she reached for the button to alert the nurse. When Mike didn't stop her, she swallowed nervously then smiled to cover her growing fear.

Within seconds, a middle-aged nurse came through the door, her eyes immediately falling on her patient. "Mr. Stone, you're awake again. How's the pain?"

With a small gasp, Mike breathed quietly, "It's, ah, pretty bad," and Jeannie gripped his hand tighter.

"I can do something about that," the nurse – Baxter according to her badge – said calmly, reaching for a syringe and vial on the bedside table. As she filled the syringe she glanced across the bed towards Jeannie and smiled encouragingly. "Don't worry, this is normal, and that's why we have pain killers." She stuck the needle into the IV line and pushed the plunger. "He'll be fine in a couple of minutes."

Nurse Baxter dropped the now empty syringe in the wastebasket. She looked at Mike, who had closed his eyes. "Mr. Stone, you're gonna start feeling a lot better in a few seconds." He nodded slowly and both women watched as his pinched, pained look began to soften. His breaths became slower and deeper and as he relaxed, so did his daughter.

He opened his eyes, his appreciative gaze sliding from his daughter to the nurse. "Thank you," he whispered with a smile, and Nurse Baxter smiled back, patting his arm.

"You're welcome," she said, glancing up at Jeannie as she turned for the door. "Enjoy your visit."

As the door closed, Jeannie turned back to her father, her brows furrowing in concern. He raised his eyebrows and grinned ironically. "Well, they did say it was gonna hurt. Hopefully only for a day or so, right?"

Nodding and smiling grimly, Jeannie slumped onto the stool. How much more could her dad endure right now? she thought sadly.

# # # # #

"So, whata you do, Steve Keller?" Beth asked conversationally. "No, wait a minute –

let me guess." She turned towards him on the bar stool and looked him up and down: a handsome young man with longish wavy brown hair, stunning green eyes and a dimple on his chin, wearing tight jeans, a blue-and-white checked shirt and boots. "Hmmm," she growled, brows furrowed then looked into his amused eyes. "Got it – lawyer. Am I right?"

Steve's grin got a little wider but he shook his head. "Nope, sorry. Close."

"Close? What do you mean close? What's close to a lawyer? Law clerk, paralegal, law professor?"

"Wrong direction," he chuckled and she stopped, staring at him with a baffled smile. When she didn't say anything, he relented. "I'm a cop."

"Go on!" she said forcefully, voice full of disbelief and she turned back to the bar, taking a sip of her wine.

Laughing, Steve signaled for another round. "Honest to god, a cop."

"I don't believe you," she said amiably, shaking her head. "Prove it." When his features folded into a perplexed frown, she continued, "You must have a badge, right, if you're a cop? So show me your badge."

Inhaling deeply and turning to nod to the bartender as he laid a cold beer and glass of wine in front of them, Steve hesitated.

"Ah ha, I knew it, you're not a cop, you're just trying to pick me up," Beth charged with a triumphant nod.

"Well, I won't deny the latter but I can prove the former," he chuckled as he picked up the fresh beer.

She turned to him once more. "You have a badge?"

"Unh-humh," he nodded, "it's in my car." He had brought his badge, I.D. and gun, all locked in the glove box.

"Prove it," she demanded, slamming a palm on the bar and standing up.

With another chuckle, he slid off the stool and headed for the door, a giggling Beth trailing behind him. Crossing the dirt parking lot, they approached his car and he felt her hang back.

"Holy shit, you have a Porsche?" she gasped. "How old _are_ you, Steve Keller?"

Unlocking the passenger side door, he glanced back at her, still laughing. "Twenty-six."

"Twenty-six?" she repeated incredulously. "And you have a Porsche?!"

He had reached into the glove box and now turned to her with his badge case open, the gold star and I.D. card visible. Still stunned, she took a step closer to him and reached for the case, tipping up the bottom so she could read the card in the dim glow from the parking lot pole light. "San Francisco? You're a cop in 'Frisco?"

" _San Fran_ cisco," he corrected automatically, and for a split second Mike's voice echoed in his ears and his smile disappeared. He swallowed heavily and her eyes snapped to the sudden melancholic look that briefly washed over his features.

Intrigued, but keeping her thoughts to herself, she released the case and took a step back, looking at the car once more. "They sure pay you cops a lot in San Francisco, don't they?"

He snorted quietly at her use of The City's full name as he put the case back into the glove box, locking both it and the door again. "The car is used and I'm paying it off in installments. It's gonna take awhile."

"Oh," she said with a chuckle, smiling. "So what kind of a cop are you, Steve Keller? Do you ride around in one of those panda cars or, ah, what do you call it? Oh yeah, plainclothes?"

They had started back across the parking lot towards the bar. He had stuck his hands into his front pants pockets and suddenly seemed a bit reticent. He cleared his throat and dropped his head before finally saying, "Well, I was in homicide –"

"No shit," she cut him off, "you're a homicide detective? I mean, like, isn't that like the highest you can go, I mean if you're into solving crimes and that kinda stuff, right?"

With an embarrassed half-smile, he nodded. "Yep, sure is." He opened the front door and stepped aside so she could enter the bar ahead of him and they were back on their stools before she spoke again.

"You said 'was'," she said quietly, leaning slightly towards him. Her tone and her expression had turned thoughtful and concerned. And she watched as the life drained from his face and he blinked slowly and deliberately, as if trying to wipe away a dark and disturbing memory.

She sat back slightly and watched as he seemed to fight some demons deep inside. He needed to talk, she could sense, and she hoped that she could be there for him when he did.


	15. Chapter 15

Mike took slow deep breaths, listening to the muted sounds of a hospital quieting down for the night through the heavy wooden door. Visiting hours had ended about an hour before, Jeannie kissing her father goodnight before reluctantly leaving. She had sat with him for a couple of hours, reading him the box scores and talking about her day.

He had been too sore and dopey to add much to the conversation, and she was well aware his mind was mostly elsewhere anyway. But the hospital staff continued to assure both of them that he was doing great and would be out in a couple of days.

And now, as he fought against the painkillers to stay awake just a little bit longer, he replayed once more the scene on the sidewalk outside his home. Appalled as he was at the things that he himself had said, the most devastating words had come from the young man who had become such an important part of his life.

And all he could wonder was, did he really mean it, or were the words just uttered in a thoughtless rage?

# # # # #

The silence had stretched out almost long enough to become unbearable when he turned to her once more, a warm smile of apology lighting his features. "So, ah, Beth Daniels, are you a 'townie' or an 'outsider' like me?"

Relieved that he had found his way back from the darkness that had overtaken him so suddenly, she spun on the stool and leaned against the bar. "Oh, I'm like you, I'm afraid. I've just been here a little longer. I'm beginning my third week, so that's why I'm on a first-name basis with ol' Bob here." She nodded in the direction of the bartender and they could hear his deep friendly laugh from the far end of the bar.

"And your home port?"

She looked down and shook her head with a slight grimace. "Well, I'm from a very small town in Colorado called Byers. You've heard the term 'one-horse town'? Well, aside from the fact that it's in Colorado, it's a half-horse town." She chuckled and he joined in.

"So what brings you here?"

"Oh, one of my girlfriends said, let's take a road trip, and I had nothing holding me down, so I said, why not?"

"Where's your friend?"

"Good question." She snorted a laugh. "She met with up with guy about a week ago and I haven't seen her since."

"Ah," Steve sympathized. "So, ah, you have a job back in Byers?"

Beth looked at him sideways, as if weighing how much she should confide in this fascinating young man. "I got out of Byers a couple of years ago when I left my husband." When Steve didn't say anything but focused on her with a concerned frown, she sighed then continued. "It was one of those 'story-book romances' you always hear about, you know? High school football quarterback marries the head cheerleader."

When his eyebrows went up, she chuckled slightly and nodded. "Steve, I'm not joking. He was the quarterback and I was the head cheerleader, swear on a stack! I think the whole town came to our wedding." She paused and looked at her wineglass. "It was the perfect life… until the first time he hit me." She saw him shift uncomfortably but his eyes never left her face.

She glanced up at him before shaking her head with another mirthless laugh. "I was one of those women who thought, it's just the one time, he's tired, he's angry, he's apologized… he won't do it again." She paused and took a deep breath. "We were trying to have kids… not successfully. I had two miscarriages. It was after the second one when he hit me again." She heard him inhale deeply and loudly but he remained silent. "It wasn't hard to leave him after that. I was packed and gone by the next morning. I haven't been back to Byers since."

She looked up shyly, embarrassed. She had never told anyone before and she was surprised and puzzled as to why she had opened up to this virtual stranger. But he was different from most of the men she had met; at least he seemed to be.

He was staring into her eyes, his own sad and apologetic. Very slowly he reached up and laid his right hand against her cheek. Then he leaned forward and placed his lips on hers.

# # # # #

The loud cries from the gulls startled him awake, and his eyes opened onto the incredibly sunlit-bright cabin. He raised his head slightly. The front door stood open and he could see the Porsche just beyond the porch. His head was pounding and his mouth was dry, and he was still wearing last night's clothes. He dropped back onto the bed and groaned. _Oh god, did he drive back here after a night of drinking in town?_

He started to get up by attempting to slide his right elbow under his body but his head spun so fast he gave up and flopped back down. A pain-filled groan penetrated the hammering between his ears and he turned his head carefully as the room spun.

Beth Daniels lay on her stomach on the mattress beside him, her eyes open and staring at him with a warm, happy smile. "Good morning," she slurred, and he groaned and closed his eyes.

# # # # #

"Here," he said, kneeling on the side of the bed and holding out a cup of coffee. She rolled over and pushed herself up, leaning on the pillows piled against the headboard, then took the cup in both hands. He sat on the edge of the bed and they clinked mugs before taking sips.

She closed her eyes and moaned in ecstasy. "Oh god, I needed that. What time is it, anyway?"

Still bleary-eyed and moving carefully, trying not to aggravate his throbbing skull, Steve leaned slowly towards the bedtable and picked up his watch. "Quarter to two," he stated with surprised snort.

"In the afternoon?!" she gasped.

"Yeah, uh, I think so, the sun is up," he mumbled, looking sluggishly towards the open front door.

She started to giggle and he joined in, then put his mug on the bedtable and collapsed onto his back on the bed. He reached to pull her down beside him. "Careful," she laughed, "I don't want to spill hot coffee on you." She put her mug on the floor then laid down and put her head against his outstretched arm.

"Can you tell me something?" he asked seriously, staring at the ceiling.

Studying his profile, she nodded. "Maybe. What is it?"

"Do you remember if I drove home drunk last night?" There was just enough fear in his voice that she contemplated, for a split second, telling him that he did, but she didn't have the heart.

"No, you did not."

"Then how did my car get here? How did _we_ get here?"

"Bob the bartender – you remember Bob the bartender?"

He chuckled. "Yes, I remember Bob the bartender."

"Well, his girlfriend came to pick him up after the bar closed and guess what, we were still there. He wouldn't let you drive back here, for obvious reasons, so he drove your car and we were dropped off by his girlfriend and then she drove Bob home."

"Bob drove my Porsche?"

"Yes, Bob drove your Porsche – and a damn sight better than you could've last night, so don't bellyache. He got it, and us, here in one piece." She elbowed him to emphasize her point then struggled back up into a sitting position, looking around the small cabin. "So, Romeo, you got anything to eat in this place?"

# # # # #

There was a light rapping on the wooden door and it opened slowly. Captain Rudy Olsen stepped into room and let the door slide noiselessly closed behind him. He approached the bed quietly.

Mike Stone slowly opened his eyes and they turned towards his visitor. A smile began to build. "Rudy," he said softly, his voice frighteningly weak.

"Mike," the older man stopped awkwardly beside the bed, worried, "how are you feeling?"

Mike stretched slightly, shaking his head. He reached up with his left hand and rubbed his eyes. "Sorry," he smiled, clearing his throat, his voice suddenly strong, "I was having a nap." He gestured towards the stool against the wall behind the door. "Have a seat," he suggested as he pushed himself up, reached for the cup of water on the side table and took a drink.

Relaxing, Olsen brought the stool closer to the bed and sat. "You're looking pretty good. How do you feel?"

With a grin, Mike set the cup back on the table. "A lot better than the past couple of days, I can tell you that. Yesterday was rough but all of sudden I started to feel really good. They're gonna let me out tomorrow."

"That's great news," Olsen nodded with a smile. "So it worked, hunh?"

"So far, so good. So, ah, what can I do for you?"

They hadn't spoken since that phone call, and Mike eyed his superior officer warily. He wasn't prepared for any more bad news, or a dressing down, at the moment, and he hoped that this sudden appearance wasn't a portent of more grief to come.

Realizing he was being eyed with suspicion, Olsen raised a hand. "You can relax, this is purely a social call. I just wanted to find out how you're doing and when you think you can come back to work, that's all." When Mike continued to stare but said nothing, Olsen snapped, "Honestly, that's it."

Nodding somewhat skeptically, Mike smiled slightly. "Okay." He took a deep breath and looked away. "Do, ah, do you know where Steve is?" he asked quietly.

Olsen shook his head. "I have no idea. I know he's not in town but that's all."

Mike nodded sadly. "Yeah, I kinda figured he'd get out of town."

"So have you been giving any thought to what you're gonna do?"

Mike snorted mirthlessly and looked at his old friend. "That's about all I've been doing."

"And?"

A tense silence stretched between them for several long seconds then Mike looked directly into Olsen's eyes. "Rudy, I think the only way I'm going to be able to do this is… well, I'm gonna have to pull in a favor or two, if you know what I mean."

Scrutinizing his lieutenant warily, Olsen nodded slowly. "I think I do."

"And at some point, I might need you to turn a blind eye." Mike stared at the older man almost defiantly.

Olsen returned the stare then blinked. "Just be careful," he said quietly.

With a slight smile, Mike nodded. "Don't worry. What I'm planning's not illegal … just unethical."

# # # # #

They were sitting in the sand on the small beach, watching the sun go down, beers in hand. She was snuggled against him, his arm around her shoulders.

She had spent the last five days with him and knew their time together was coming to an end. It had been a wonderfully romantic and relaxing time and she knew she would miss him terribly. But she also knew this was a one-time thing, that they were not soulmates destined to spend their lives together.

And she also knew he was living with something deep inside that was tearing him apart. In unguarded moments, his usually smiling face would suddenly turn forlorn and haunted, and she longed to be able to help him come to grips with what was so obviously tormenting him.

With a sideways glance at his profile, she ventured softly, "Remember the other night when we met at the bar…?"

"Umh-humh," he grunted, continuing to look at the changing light over the water.

"You said you _were_ in Homicide. What did you mean by that?"

She felt him stiffen and catch his breath but he didn't move. She could feel him breathe, deeply and slowly and she sighed and dropped her head, knowing she had pushed him too far, pushed him away.

He cleared his throat lightly and inhaled deeply. "I, ah, I may have destroyed the best friendship I'll ever have in my life," he whispered, the heart-breaking timbre of his voice taking her breath away.


	16. Chapter 16

**I'd like to take this opportunity to thank my loyal readers, and reviewers. You are my inspiration and I am so thrilled that I can share my stories about these remarkable men to you. In this day and age of cheap and shallow sentimentality, it's nice to know that genuine love, respect and loyalty still exists, even if it's only in the fiction of the 1970's TV show. We need to find our heroes where we can.**

Encouraged by his response, hopeful that he wouldn't change his mind and stop talking, Beth allowed a few seconds of silence to settle before asking softly. "What do you mean?" She closed her eyes and waited.

Eventually she felt him sigh. "I said some things that I shouldn't have, things said in anger. Things I wish I could take back but it's too late now," Steve said slowly, the pain so evident in his voice.

"How do you know?"

He shifted uncomfortably and she felt him snort mirthlessly. "I don't for sure," he admitted softly, and she sensed he was unwinding, that maybe, just maybe, the floodgates were slowly opening. She snuggled deeper against him.

"So why don't you tell me what happened? Sometimes talking about things helps to make them clearer in your own mind, you know?" He didn't move at first, then she felt his arm tighten around her and she knew she had struck a chord. "Who was it that you hurt?" she asked in a whisper and he took a deep breath before he answered.

"My partner."

"What happened?"

As he continued to stare at the darkening lake, he told her about Mike, about how proud and honoured he had been to join the prestigious Homicide department of the SFPD, how he had become the youngest assistant inspector to receive that distinction. He spoke of the quick bond he had formed with the legendary, and much older, lieutenant who had handpicked him to be his new partner, and how the first few weeks had been fraught with anxiety as he hoped he lived up to expectations.

But all his fears had proved for naught when his boss had quickly become not only his mentor but a close personal friend and, in many ways, a surrogate father.

"What about your real father?" Beth asked gently. "You haven't told me anything about your family."

She felt him shrug. "Not much to say, I guess. I was born in Modesto – ah, that's in central California. A little bigger than Byers but not much," he added with a chuckle and she was encouraged by the sudden flash of humour. "My Dad was in the Army, my Mom was a housewife. But we weren't one of those military families who went from base to base. I don't think my Dad ever really wanted a family. He was stationed in Germany most of the time. Served three terms in Vietnam."

He paused for a few seconds. "He never understood my 'hippie values', he used to call them. He thought I was an idiot for going to Mississippi in '64 to help with voter registration. And then when I started to protest again the war, well, that was it as far as our relationship was concerned. We haven't spoken since."

"And your Mom?"

"I talk to her once in a while, but we're not close. She's pretty much an alcoholic." His voice faded out and she could see he was struggling with the memory.

"So, ah, so how did _you_ turn out so well?" she asked with so much warmth in her voice that he had to smile.

He snorted again, but this time there was actual laughter in the sound. "Lucky, I guess. Every once in a while, someone came into my life to keep it on the right track."

"And your partner is one of them?" She knew she might be going a little too far but hoped he would understand why she was asking.

He sighed sadly. "Yeah, I really thought so," was all he said.

Giving him a couple of seconds to regroup, she urged, "You haven't told me what happened."

He took a deep breath and she felt him straighten up slightly, pulling himself out of the past and back to the present. He told her about testifying in his first murder trial as lead detective, then the dust-up in the courthouse corridor and the subsequent injuries both he and Mike had suffered.

She gasped audibly when he told her about Mike's lacerated liver and the 24 hours of worry until they were sure he was going to be okay. She could hear the love in his voice when he spoke about the man he had become so close to so quickly.

But his entire tone changed when he spoke about another man, Gallagher he called him, who had temporarily replaced the ailing Mike as the head of Homicide, about this new man's attitude towards him, about the put-downs, the disrespect and the subtle sabotage of his career. And then, for Steve, the coup-de-gras: the arrest of Roger Anderson for the murder of his wife.

"He didn't do it, Beth. I know in my soul he didn't do it."

"Can you prove it?"

"Not yet, but I hope to."

She allowed him a few seconds to relax, then asked quietly. "So what happened between you and Mike?"

He exhaled loudly and she felt him sag. Then he began to tell her, in a voice so quiet she almost had to strain to hear him, about Mike's confrontation with Gallagher. When he finished, she waited a couple of seconds then ventured carefully, "Steve, it doesn't sound all that bad to me. It just sounds like he was standing up for you."

He pulled away sharply and she realized she had gone too far. "Standing up for me? You're kidding, right? Beth, it was like he was my big brother or my dad facing the bully for me because I'm too much of a little kid to do it myself. It's emasculating and it's embarrassing. I don't need anyone to fight my battles – I can do it myself. But he took that option out of my hands. Instead of making things better, he made them much, much worse."

He paused and exhaled loudly. "I may be stretching it here, and if I am, I apologize in advance, but what he did to me, I think it might be like the first time your husband hit you. Shock, anger, betrayal, am I right?"

Beth was looking at him with wide, almost angry eyes. But she began to nod slowly.

He looked down and swallowed heavily. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to - … I'm sorry."

"No, no," she said breathlessly, "you're right, especially about the betrayal."

He nodded as well. "That's all that was going through my mind."

"What did you do?" she whispered.

He closed his eyes and she could see moisture suddenly appear on his lashes. As he swallowed heavily once more, she turned away and laid her head against his shoulder.

"I went to his house," he began quietly, "I confronted him. He tried to defend himself, telling me he did it because he was worried about me, about what Gallagher was doing to derail my career and undermine my confidence. But I didn't listen to him, I knew better." He paused and took a steadying breath. "The things I said to him…"

She could feel the heaving breaths he was taking and allowed him some time to collect himself before asking, "What did you say to him?"

The deep breath he took shook his entire body, and he held it before answering in a soft whisper. "I told him I wasn't his boy and I wasn't his son." His breaths were starting to come a little closer together and she knew he was struggling not to cry.

She gave him time, staring out at the lake to give him some privacy. She felt him calming down. Eventually his grip on her shoulders tightened. She knew they had gone as far tonight as she dared to push him but she knew they weren't finished. He needed to decide what he was going to do, and she knew he also needed to get his partner back.

# # # # #

Sergeant Harry Rosefield slipped his wallet back into his pocket, picked up the tray and started across the cafeteria to one of the dimly lit back booths. With a satisfied smile, he set the tray on the table, slipped into the booth and was just reaching for his knife and fork when someone dropped down onto the opposite bench with a brief sharp moan.

Startled, the sergeant's head came up quickly, his wide-eyed look suddenly narrowing, and he slowly put the cutlery down with a heavy sigh.

"Hi, Harry," a grinning, windbreaker-wearing Mike Stone said pleasantly as he took off his fedora and set in on the table.

Staring at the tray before him, Rosefield growled sullenly, "Hello, Mike."

"Gee, how long has it been, Harry? Seven, eight years?"

Clearing his throat, Rosefield muttered, "Yeah, about that, I guess."

"Oh, I'm not guessing. Seven years and eight months," Mike said with an annoyingly self-satisfied smile. When Rosefield wouldn't meet his eyes, he continued, "You knew this day was coming, Harry. It was only a matter of time."

Another heavy sigh drifted across the table. "What do you want?"

"Oh, now really, do you have to be so unpleasant about it? Oh well," Mike sighed genially and reached into his inside windbreaker pocket. He took out a piece of paper, unfolded it and laid it on the table beside Rosefield's tray. The sergeant's eyes drifted from the lieutenant to the paper and he swallowed. "See," Mike continued, his tone starting to grate on Rosefield's nerves, "only seven names on the list. Could've been a lot worse, you know. It's only seven."

Rosefield's eyes flicked down the list of names and when he looked back up at Mike, all pretence of civility had disappeared. The smile was gone and the dancing blue eyes had turned hard and cold.

"What time do you need me to be there?"

Rosefield swallowed, worrying his lower lip. "I'll need time to get them together. How about one o'clock? But on the dot 'cause I don't want anybody seeing you and it's usually pretty quiet around one."

"I don't want anybody seeing me either," Mike said dryly. "One o'clock it is." With his left hand on his lower right chest, he planted his right hand on the table to push himself up, holding his breath to suppress another pain filled groan. He picked up the fedora and began to move away from the table then turned back and smiled once more. "Oh and, ah, by the way, Harry, this puts paid to your little debt, you'll be happy to know."

With a wink, he headed off across the cafeteria. Rosefield watched him go then looked down at his tray. After a couple of seconds, he pushed it away.

# # # # #

Mike slipped the key out of the lock and opened the door as quietly as he could. He glanced around the empty living room before closing the door with a relieved sigh. He tossed the keys on the sidetable then, trying not to wince, slipped off his windbreaker and hung it up, then put his fedora on the closet shelf.

With his right hand against his ribs, he crossed slowly to the armchair and sat carefully, trying not to groan. Safely down, he let out a held breath and sat back, closing his eyes and trying to relax.

Jeannie stepped into the kitchen doorway, her arms crossed, and stared at her father in silence. After several long seconds, she heard him mumble, "I thought you went to a movie."

"And I thought you were going to stay in bed."

He snorted a quiet laugh, keeping his eyes closed. "I've got too many things to do if I want to get this mess all cleaned up."

She crossed to the side of his chair and sat on the arm, laying a soft hand on his forehead. "I know. But you have to take care of yourself too."

He opened his eyes, reached for her hand and pulled it to his lips. "I will, sweetheart. Don't worry about me."

She leaned down and kissed his forehead. "Why don't you lie on the couch and take a nap and I'll figure out something special for dinner, okay?"

"I like the dinner idea, but I don't want to move right now," he said wearily, closing his eyes again. "I think I'll just sleep right here."

She watched as his breaths evened out and within seconds she knew he was asleep. She laid a gentle hand over his heart and stared at him for several long beats, then with a sad heavy sigh, got up and wandered into the kitchen.


	17. Chapter 17

The counter was empty when Mike approached. Rosefield looked up from his desk, eyes widening, then rose and crossed quickly to the door. Unlocking and opening it, he motioned with his head for Mike to enter the small office, then relocked the door behind him.

"Follow me," Rosefield grunted, both forgoing any meaningless salutations, and Mike followed the stocky, pot-bellied sergeant through an open door at the back of the office into a dark cavernous room piled high with boxes and filing cabinets. "This way."

Mike followed Rosefield down corridors lined to the high ceiling, feeling like a mouse in a maze. Rosefield finally stopped and gestured towards a chair in front of a small table, a green-glass-shaded banker's lamp providing the only illumination. On the table sat a short stack of files.

As Mike took a step closer to the table, Rosefield growled. "Don't take too long."

With a chuckle and sardonic smile, Mike slipped a notebook and pen from his windbreaker pocket and pulled out the chair. "Don't worry, Harry, no one'll ever know I was here." As the sergeant started to walk away, Mike added, "Oh, I might need to use the photocopier."

Rosefield stopped and looked back at him, his look just shy of a snarl. "Yeah, yeah," he mumbled as he turned away and disappeared down a dark row of boxes.

With a grimace, Mike shrugged out of the windbreaker and put it over the back of the chair. He sat slowly and carefully, slipping his glasses from his shirt pocket and putting them on. With a deep sigh, he picked up the top file and looked at the name. Setting it aside, he picked up the next one, checked the name, then laid it on the table and opened it.

# # # # #

They were walking down the beach hand in hand, enjoying the cool breeze and the gently lapping water. His car was packed and he was going to head back to The City around noon so he could spend the evening at home. He had to be back at work the next morning.

Since their talk on the beach a couple of nights earlier, she hadn't pressed him about his plans when he returned to San Francisco, and now she was aware that her time was running out. In her soul she knew he needed to be reunited with the man who seemed to have such a hold over him, but in the most benevolent and extraordinary way.

Squeezing his hand tighter to get his attention, she turned slightly towards him. "So," she began innocently, "have you given any thought to what you're going to do when you get back?"

He snorted and shook his head slightly. "I was wondering when you were going to get around to asking me that." Though his words were accusatory, the lightness of his tone took all the sting away. He looked at her sideways. "This is important to you?"

She looked down at the sand they were walking over, avoiding his gaze, but she nodded. "Yes, I think it is. I know I don't know you all that well, Steve Keller, but I think I've learned enough these past few days to know that you don't want your life to continue in this way without your partner, am I right?"

He had turned to look straight ahead, his smile disappearing. He was silent for a few long seconds, then said quietly, "And if I was to tell you you're right, what would you say then?"

Still looking down, she grinned slightly. "Then I would say, do whatever you can, say whatever you have to, to make him understand you didn't mean what you said."

"It's that easy, hunh?" he said sarcastically.

"Well, no, I didn't say that. He's going to have to meet you halfway of course, but everything you've told me about him, well, he sounds to me like a pretty reasonable guy. Someone you can talk to, am I right?"

Steve chuckled, and her heart almost burst to hear the sound. "Yeah, he _is_ that." He squeezed her hand.

"And you seem to be a guy who can talk your way out of, and into, just about anything…" With a giggle, she left the sentence hanging.

"Hey," he said sharply with a laugh, and pulled her towards him to give her quick kiss. Her smile disappearing, her pulled her hand out of his and wrapped her arms around him, laying her head against his chest. His arms encircled her and he held her close.

He knew she had been good for him, a necessary angel who had helped him through an unnecessary crisis. He had been stunned at the speed in which in life had fallen apart, and all because of one errant punch. To say life was capricious was a gross understatement.

His grip on her relaxed and he took her hand and started down the beach once more. They walked in silence for several minutes and she knew he was thinking about the immediate future and his imminent return to The City. He had a daunting task ahead of him and she could sense his inner turmoil.

"Beth," he began softly, "I don't know what to say to him… I don't know where to start."

She squeezed his hand and smiled. "Well, I've always found that whenever you put together a … script or whatever, when you make up your mind in advance about what you want to say… well, it almost never turns out that way, does it?" She glanced sideways at him. He was staring down at the sand and frowning; she knew he was listening so she stopped walking and pulled him to a halt to face her.

"Steve, you'll know what to say when you see him. I know you will. You just need to be honest with him, and if he's half the man you've been describing to me, he's gonna listen. I just know it. I think he doesn't want to lose you just as much, if not more, than you want to lose him."

He was staring into her eyes, his own worried and hooded, then he smiled and pulled her into another embrace. They stood that way for a long time.

# # # # #

Mike took off his glasses and dropped them lightly on the table, rubbing his eyes. His hunch had proved right and he was both relieved that he gotten to the bottom of everything yet angry that so much heartache had been borne from such a seemingly trivial incident.

He glanced at his watch. It had taken him a little longer to ferret everything out than he had hoped, and he still needed to get some things photocopied. The ache in his side had gotten worse the longer he had sat in the stiff-backed chair and he knew it was going to hurt like hell when he stood.

He picked up the papers he needed copied and started to get up, but the pain brought him back down. With a frustrated groan and angry shake of his head, he dropped the papers and used both hands to push himself to a standing position. The room spun suddenly and he grabbed the table edge to steady himself.

Staying completely still for a few seconds until he was sure the dizziness had passed, he picked up the papers and turned slowly, heading back towards the office to find Rosefield.

# # # # #

With his hands on both sides of her face, his final kiss was a long and passionate one. And when he finished, he laid his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. He knew only too well how much he had needed her these past few days, but he also knew, as she did, that this wonderful interlude had been a one-time thing.

Finally he pulled away and stared into her eyes. "Where do I begin to thank you?" he asked softly and she smiled.

"Just go home and do what you need to do. Talk to him. Apologize if you have to but go with your heart. You'll know what to do."

He smiled back, reluctantly taking his hands away from her face and turning towards the car. He opened the door and got in, and as he started the engine, she leaned into the open window and gave him another kiss. He smiled up at her, his expression both thankful and melancholy then he shifted the Porsche into first and pulled away.

She watched until the sports car disappeared from her sight. "Have a good life, Steven Keller," she whispered into the air.

# # # # #

He was tossing his dirty laundry into the clothesbasket in his bedroom when he heard the rapping on the door. He froze for a split second, recognizing the knock but not quite believing his ears.

With his heart starting to pound, he jogged down the stairs, crossed to the front door and pulled it open.

In a blue windbreaker and wearing his beloved fedora, Mike Stone stood on the stoop. Their gazes locked and both men froze, their expressions neutral. But in both pairs of eyes there was the sudden faint flicker of unbearable loss and unwavering affection. It was Mike who broke the spell first, holding out the thin manila folder he held in one hand.

"You were right," he said quietly, his voice calm and controlled, "it _was_ your battle. But it turned out to be my war."

As his eyes continued to bore into the older man's, Steve reached out almost unconsciously and took the file. Mike turned and started slowly down the steps then crossed the sidewalk to the blue sedan.

Steve watched as he opened the driver's side door, and he could see the barely concealed grimace of pain as Mike got into the car and closed the door. The sedan made a three-point turn before heading back up Union, but there was no backward glance.

Steve looked down at the file in his hand and swallowed.

# # # # #

Jeannie was in the kitchen, tending to the sauce on the stove, when she heard the front door open and close. Expecting her father to join her, she was surprised when she heard him climb the stairs to the second floor.

Turning the temperature down under the burner, she quickly washed her hands, dried them on her apron and headed up the stairs. The master bedroom door was closed and she knocked quietly before entering. The curtains were drawn and the lights were off. She could see her father lying on top of the bedspread, his eyes closed and both hands on his stomach, his fingers interlaced.

Leaving the light off, she crossed to the bed and sat carefully on the edge. She put a hand on top of his and saw him smile in the dim light.

"Are you okay?"

He nodded but didn't open his eyes. "I'm fine, sweetheart. I'm just beat. Busy day."

"How long were you out?" she asked, trying hard to mask the concern in her voice.

"How was school?"

She shook his hands and he chuckled slightly. "Don't change the subject. How long were you out?"

He opened his eyes slowly and looked at her. "Long enough that I just want to lie here for awhile," he said pointedly, with raised eyebrows.

She smiled at him. "Are you hungry?"

"Not right now, maybe later. Whatever you're cooking sure smells good."

Her smile widened. "I'm making spaghetti sauce. We needed a fresh batch. It has to simmer for awhile yet." She watched his eyes close and she stared at him for several long seconds. "It'll be ready when you want it," she added quietly and he nodded.

She gently got up from the bed and crossed to the door. She stared at him again for several seconds before she closed the door and made her way back to the kitchen.

Mike opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. As tired as he was, he couldn't get his mind to stop racing. He had done all he could, he knew, and now the future of his partnership was out of his hands. And that made him feel helpless.

# # # # #

Steve had put the file on his coffee table without opening it; he wanted to make sure he was in the right frame of mind before he did. He filled the percolator and plugged it in, then went back upstairs, finished unpacking and took a shower. With the smell of fresh coffee filling the small apartment, he re-entered the kitchen, poured himself a cup, then went into the living room and sat on the sofa.

He took a sip of the coffee, put it down on a coaster, and opened the file.


	18. Chapter 18

The file contained only two photocopies with a page from a yellow legal pad lying on top. Steve's hand was shaking as he reached for the yellow foolscap, recognizing the handwriting before he even picked it up. On it, evenly spaced, were five names:

 _Inspector John Jankowski_

 _Inspector Paul Bennett_

 _Inspector Matthew Knowles_

 _Inspector Steven Keller_

 _Inspector Ronald Cochran_

He knew instantly what it was – the short list that Mike had put together months before when he had been searching for a new addition for Homicide, and a new partner. He personally knew two others on the list – Jankowski and Cochran. They had been at the Academy together. The others he had seen in passing but never met – Bennett had been a year ahead of him, Knowles three. All of them had outstanding reputations in the department.

He stared at the piece of paper in his hand, still overwhelmed that from this group of exemplary candidates, he had been chosen. What was it that had, in Mike's eyes, set him apart from the others? Why had he been the lucky one?

He took a deep breath as the painful reality of what he was now facing flashed through his mind.

He set the yellow sheet aside and reached for the top photocopy. It was a page from a personnel file, and something deep inside told him he shouldn't be looking at this. How could Mike have access to it? No one, no matter how high up, who didn't work in Personnel and had no authority with regards to the hiring and firing of departmental manpower was allowed unfettered access to personal files, unless under warrant during an official investigation.

Almost reluctantly, his eyes started to pore over the information on the sheet, looking for whatever it was he was supposed to find. It didn't take long. It was Paul Bennett's form, and under the section for Marital Status, in the box marked 'Spouse' he had written _Linda._ And in the box marked 'Spouse's Maiden Name': _Gallagher._

Steve exhaled loudly through his nose and sat back slightly. Was that all it was? Could it really be something as simple as that? He put the page aside and reached for the other photocopy. It too was a sheet from a personnel file, this one belonging to Lieutenant John Edward Gallagher. It took no time at all for his eyes to find what he was looking for – in the box labeled 'Children' was the name _Linda Ann._

Steve threw the paper onto the coffee table and leaned back, stunned and angry. He brought his hands up to rub his face and then pushed them back through his hair. Letting out a furious snarl, he shot to his feet and paced the small room, trying to get a grip on his mounting rage.

Jealousy? He and Mike had been put through all this because of simple jealousy? It didn't seem conceivable, and yet there was the evidence before him. There had to be more; there just had to be. This must be only a symptom, he thought; this couldn't be the disease. It just didn't make any sense.

He suddenly knew he had to talk to Mike. He knew that the shrewd lieutenant would never accept such a bafflingly simple explanation. Their differences aside for the moment, they were in this together whether they wanted to be or not and Steve was determined to uncover the real reason for their current plight.

He glanced at his watch. It had been a little over an hour since Mike had delivered the folder, and it was only shortly after six in the evening. Rubbing the back of his neck, torn and angry, his internal debate lasted only a few seconds before he picked up the file, grabbed the keys from the table near the door, pulled a jacket from the closet and left the apartment.

# # # # #

Sliding the Porsche into a empty spot behind the blue sedan, Steve glanced up the old house as he turned off the engine, snatched the file from the passenger seat and got out of the car, sprinting up the concrete steps two at a time. He stood on the stoop, suddenly unsure. Three times he raised his hand to knock before he actually did it, pushing the doorbell at the same time.

He braced himself, waiting for Mike to open the door. He wasn't prepared when it was Jeannie. As her eyes fell on him, her welcoming smile disappeared. He froze, suddenly unable to talk. As she waited, her gaze turning cold, he looked down for a split second and took a deep breath. "Jeannie, is your Dad home?"

"Why?" she asked frostily.

"I need to talk to him about…" He held up the folder haltingly, suddenly unsure of himself. "He, um, he gave this to me about an hour ago…"

Jeannie looked at the file in his hand then closed her eyes. Now she knew what her father had been doing the past two days. Her hard look wavered slightly and she bit her lower lip, suddenly overwhelmed that her father would risk his life to mend fences with the young man standing in front of her.

She shook her head slightly, but the anger was gone. "Not tonight, Steve," she said gently. "He's not up for it."

His brow furrowed in worry. "I saw him wince when he got into his car. Is he okay?"

"No, he's not. He's supposed to be in bed –" She stopped abruptly, realizing that he had been out of town and was most probably unaware of Mike's second surgery. "You don't know, do you?"

Feeling the floor come up to hit him in the face, Steve shook his head. "What?"

She leaned against the doorframe and looked at him with a mixture of sympathy and shame. "Maybe I'll let _him_ tell you …"

"Jeannie, please." And in those two words, she heard the love and respect that he still felt for her father.

She held his gaze for a couple of seconds, her face unreadable, then she took a step back. "Come on in." He moved past her into the living room and she closed the door behind him. Awkwardly, he crossed to the sofa and sat. She glanced worriedly up the stairs before moving to the armchair and sitting. "Do me a favour and keep your voice down. I don't want him to know you're here. He doesn't need this right now."

More worried than ever, Steve stared at her. "What's going on?"

"He's only been out of the hospital for four days. He shouldn't even be -"

"He was back in?" The question was soft and breathy.

She nodded grimly. "They put a plate in his chest, to reinforce the ribs that were broken, and hopefully prevent them from being broken again." Steve looked away, eyes widening with worry. "He's in a lot of pain, Steve, more than he'll admit, of course. He is who he is." She looked at him accusingly. "He's supposed to be in bed, allowing his body to heal. But for the past couple of days he's been trying to find out why Jack Gallagher has it in for you."

Her words, though accusatory, carried no small amount of guilt. After all, she was the one who had suggested that Mike pursue that line of investigation in the attempt to mend fences with his young partner. She, of all people, should have realized that a man as single-minded and stubborn as her father wouldn't let something as petty as his own health stand in the way of the truth, or setting things to rights.

Steve, now wracked with his own guilt, looked up at her from under a lowered brow. "I am so sorry, Jeannie, I never wanted anything like this to happen, you have to believe me."

Her uncompromising stare slowly began to melt away and eventually a sad smile emerged. She reached across the gap between them and laid a soft hand on his forearm. "I know you didn't. No one did. It's not your fault and it's not Mike's fault. You had no control over what happened anymore than Mike did. You're both the victims in this, whether you want to admit it or not."

The silence lengthened then she nodded slightly at the folder still in his hand. "Does that tell you why Gallagher did it?"

He shrugged slightly. "Part of it, yeah. I'm not sure it tells the whole story, but it's a start anyway."

She smiled, proud of her father for being able to do his job even under such debilitating circumstances. He saw the look and knew what it meant, and he mirrored it then glanced towards the stairs. "He's asleep?"

She shook her head once, her eyebrows rising with a slight shrug. "I hope so. He was exhausted when he got home and I think he was in a lot of pain, but he wouldn't admit it, of course. He didn't even eat, just went right to bed."

He nodded, worry creasing his features even more. "Look, I'll, ah, I'll talk to him about this," he hefted the file, "in a day or so when he's feeling better. I'll, ah, I'll get out of your way right now." He got up and began to move to the door then stopped.

"Thank you."

"For what?" she asked as she got up to follow him.

"For being such a good daughter, and for not blaming me for everything that's going on."

"Steve, nobody's blaming you for what's happened," she said quickly, a heart-warming sincerity in her voice. "You didn't cause this to happen, it happened to you. And because of that, it happened to Mike. But it's not your fault and never has been. Mike knows that. Everybody knows that."

He turned back to her at the door and glanced up the stairs. "Take good care of him," he said with a warm smile and she grinned and nodded.

"You don't have to worry about that."

He nodded back then briefly dropped his gaze. "Oh uh, please don't tell him I was here, okay? I just, ah …"

"Don't worry, I won't," she said quietly, rescuing him. "Steve, you're going to work it out, you two, I know you will."

His weary smile under the unbelievably sad eyes almost took her breath away. "I hope so," he said quietly as he turned and started down the concrete steps.

She watched him until he got to the Porsche, then closed the door quietly and turned to look up the stairs. She climbed them slowly, snapping off the hall light before opening the master bedroom door.

Mike was still in his clothes, sound asleep on top of the covers. His left hand was close to the edge of bed, his right still protectively over his damaged ribs. He was snoring slightly.

She stared at him for several long seconds, a warm and loving smile lighting her face. She went to the linen closet in the hall and took out a thick blanket, re-entering the bedroom to gently lay it over him. He moved a bit but didn't wake up.

Shutting the door as she left the room, she headed back downstairs, cleaned up, turned off all the lights then retreated to her bedroom. Minutes later, her nightly ablutions complete and now wearing her pajamas and bathrobe, she returned to the master bedroom.

With a warm blanket in hand, she curled up in the armchair near the bed, wrapped the blanket tightly around herself, and stared at her father until sleep overcame her as well.

# # # # #

Steve lay on his bed and stared up into the darkness. If his feelings of guilt had been overpowering before, now they were a palpable ache in his soul. The fact that Mike had been through a second surgery, and was not even close to a full recovery, preyed on his mind. That he should have been here for him, or at least he should have known, were thoughts that rolled over and over in his mind.

And the fact that he hadn't been told only served to confirm that the rift between them was wide and getting wider.

The only straw at which he could grasp, it seemed, was the irrefutable fact that Mike had come to him to personally deliver the file. In his mind, that was a huge gesture on the older man's part, an olive branch of peace being offered in this war that neither of them wanted to fight.

He closed his eyes and sighed. Reluctantly, he began to accept the fact that it would probably be several days until he could see his former partner; if Jeannie had her way, Mike would be one hundred percent recovered before anyone would see him again.

And now he had to report back to work in the morning. From his new perspective, the sudden and badly thought out decision to put in for a transfer could quite possibly be the most disastrous decision he had ever made. Would it be too much to hope that his paperwork had gotten lost in the shuffle and was still unfiled?

He sighed heavily; with the way his life had been going lately, that seemed almost too much to wish for.


	19. Chapter 19

Mike opened his eyes slowly. His head was pounding and every muscle in his body seemed to ache. Realizing he was in his own room, still in his street clothes and covered with a heavy blanket, he shoved the blanket aside, spread both hands out on the bed and tried to push himself up. But the dizziness and the pain in his side forced him back down. Waiting several seconds until he felt able to move again, he lifted his head and looked towards the open door.

The armchair was closer to the bed than he remembered and there was another blanket crumpled up on it. Briefly closing his eyes, he sighed guiltily and lay back again to stare at the ceiling. The sunlight sneaking around the edges of the curtains told him he had slept through the night. He heard soft footsteps on the stairs and Jeannie, dressed and ready for the day, appeared at the doorway.

With a relieved smile, she crossed to the bed and sat. "Wow, you must have really needed that," she chuckled, laying a gentle hand on her father's chest as he turned to look at her, trying hard to smile encouragingly. "How are you feeling?"

"Like hell," he admitted, knowing he wouldn't be able to hide his discomfort from her for very long. "I have a headache and it feels like everything hurts, especially my ribs."

"Well," she said, sliding into lecturer mode, "that's because you haven't eaten in twenty-four hours, and you've been out gallivanting all over town for two days when you should have been in bed here recuperating. So who do you think's responsible for that?"

He glared at her under a furrowed brow but didn't rise to the bait; he knew she was right. Putting his hands on the bed once more, he tried again to push himself up but she increased the pressure of her hand on his chest and pushed him back down. It didn't take much force and that worried her a little. "Don't move," she ordered sternly, "I have breakfast ready and I'll bring it up."

He looked at her with widened eyes. "I have to go to the bathroom," he said through clenched teeth, trying hard to be subtle.

"Oh," she chuckled lightly, releasing the pressure on his chest, and she helped him up. He tried to smile to mask the pain but he was woefully incapable of keeping the distress from showing on his face and in his held breaths. On his feet, he stood still for several seconds until he was sure he was stable then started out of the room.

As she began to follow, a hand on his arm, he turned to her and cocked his head. "Jeannie, I've been potty trained for a long time now. I can do this on my own."

Her initial flare of anger turned into a laugh as she looked into his eyes and could see the whimsy behind the pain. "Ha ha ha," she said dryly. "All right, but you get yourself right back into bed and I'll bring your breakfast up. And the Demerol."

She watched, her brow furrowed once more, as he moved slowly across the hall and into the bathroom, closing the door. She crossed to the bureau, took out his pajamas and laid them on the bed.

# # # # #

Steve exited the elevator and turned to the right. He stopped outside the office door and hesitated a few seconds before knocking. Hearing the command to enter, he took a deep breath, opened the door and went in.

Captain Rudy Olsen looked up from the report he was studying, his expression unreadable as his eyes fell on his visitor. Steve smiled slightly and nodded. "Captain, you, ah, you asked to see me?"

His look unchanging, Olsen gestured at a guest chair as he put the report down and closed the file. "I trust your week off was profitable, in a 'What the hell did I just do?' kind of way?"

Confused, and stunned into silence, Steve's brows knitted and his mouth dropped open.

Not breaking his stare, Olsen opened the top side drawer of his desk, taking out a manila folder, opening it and picking up the papers inside. Steve's eyes slid from his captain's face to the papers in his hand, and he exhaled in relief.

Olsen noticed the change in attitude and smiled. "I was hoping to see that," he chuckled gently. "I knew you didn't want to leave Homicide." He tossed the papers closer to the still dazed young man. "I'll leave it up to you to destroy them, or whatever you want to do with them."

"How did you know?"

"Are you kidding? Steve, my boy, you are a wee bit transparent when it comes to Mike." On the suddenly widening eyes, the older man continued quickly, "Don't worry about it – not everybody reads people like I do; I've been at this job a long, long time and I've gotten pretty good at reading people over the years. That's why I'm the captain," he chuckled. "And, by the way, you're not alone – Mike feels the same way towards you, I can assure you." He paused, smiling warmly. "Have you seen him yet?"

"Ah, no," Steve stammered, still shocked at the fortuitous turn of events, but also reluctant to go into any detail about the roadblocks that had been put in his path with regards to his former partner. "Have you?"

Olsen shook his head. "Ah, no, I've been a little busier here than normal with, you know, all that's been going on lately." He looked down, flustered, moving papers around on his desk for no apparent reason. "But I talked to Jeannie. She said the operation went very well and he's recovering. From what I heard, he's still supposed to be back at work, behind a desk anyway, in about a week. So, fingers crossed, eh?"

Steve frowned to himself slightly. It seemed obvious that the captain wasn't quite up to date with the goings on of the past two days, and Steve intended to keep it that way, so he nodded encouragingly. He still wasn't sure just how much detail Olsen knew about the falling out.

Taking another deep breath and clearing his throat, Steve asked tentatively, "So, ah, who do I report to, Captain?"

Olsen eyed him with a slight smile that the younger man couldn't read. "You _have_ been out of the loop," he said lightly. "Well, you can relax. Devitt came back from Sacramento last week and I've put him in temporary charge of Homicide until Mike gets back. Jack is back in Robbery – where he belongs, by the way." His eyes began to dance. "Believe me, you weren't the only one that had trouble with him."

Eyes widening in disbelief, Steve stared at his superior and swallowed heavily. He really couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"But you're not off the hook completely. Gallagher has filed a grievance against you, for insubordination and the mishandling of evidence."

"What?!"

Olsen put both hands up. "Relax, Steve, no one believes it, but because it's been filed it has to go through the system."

"Who knows about this? When did he file?"

"The day before yesterday. The Chief of D's and me are the only ones who know about it right now – well, besides Gallagher, of course – so relax. IA isn't even fully aware of it yet; the Chief is sitting on it for the time being until he talks to you."

His mind racing, Steve was looking down, trying to come to grips with this latest bombshell. This nightmare didn't seem to have an end.

"So am I suspended or what?"

Olsen studied the anxious young man for several long moments, seeming to weigh his options. "Norm Hasseejian told me –"

"You talked to Norm?!" Steve interrupted, immediately regretting the outburst but wondering just how many people the big-mouthed sergeant _had_ spoken to in the past few weeks. So much for confidentiality!

Again, Olsen's hands came up. "Take it easy. Remember, we're all on _your_ side here. Cut us some slack."

Appropriately chagrined, the inspector lowered his eyes and took a deep breath. "Sorry, it's just been –"

"I know, I know," Olsen interjected compassionately, with a dry chuckle. He realized he was letting this kid off scot-free with things he wouldn't dream of letting others get away with, but there was just something about him…. Mike had certainly picked a winner when he had chosen Steve Keller as his new partner, and he was not about to see that come to an end, if he had anything to do with it.

After a few seconds of tense silence, Olsen started again. "I talked to Norm and he mentioned something about a case that Gallagher closed that you seem to think he got wrong. Anderson, was it?"

Steve's head had come up and there was a sudden bright light in his eyes. "Yes, sir, Roger Anderson. He's been arrested for murdering his wife, but I don't think he did it."

"Yeah, that's what Norm said. Anyway, I've spoken to Roy about this and he thinks you should take a few days, on your own, and pursue whatever lines of investigation you think you need to to either confirm your suspicions or… let sleeping dogs lie."

Steve had frozen where he sat, letting Olsen's words sink it. He asked quietly, "You and Roy have spoken about this?"

The captain nodded.

"So you had this all figured out before I even walked in here just now?"

Olsen began to smile. "What, you think Mike is the only one who can read your mind? You have a lot to learn, my boy, a _lot_ to learn from us old-timers."

Steve stare slowly turned into an ironic smile and he shook his head in bewilderment. He honestly didn't realize he had so many people in his corner, and he felt gratified and a little overwhelmed.

But the most important person was still not there. And he knew a lot more had to be said, and done, before the fires on the bridges that had started to burn could be extinguished and life could go on as it had before. _If_ life could go on as before.

It was a very big _if._

# # # # #

"Feeling better?" Jeannie asked as she picked up the breakfast tray from in front of her father. "You ate everything, I see."

Wiping his mouth with the cloth napkin and putting it on the tray as she moved it away slowly, he smirked. "Well, I _was_ hungry."

She chuckled. "How's the head?"

"Better. I think the caffeine helped."

"Is the Demerol kicking in?"

He closed his eyes and nodded.

"Good." She started towards to the door.

"Hey, don't you have school?"

She turned back to the bed, a patently false smile playing across her lips. "I'm staying home today. My father's not well and I'm going to look after him and make sure he gets some rest. And doesn't leave the house," she finished pointedly.

Mike shrunk back against the pillows. "Oh, I see. Is, ah, is he going to write you a note?"

"He'd better," she met his eyes evenly.

With a wan smile, he nodded. "Oh, I'm sure he will."

She grinned affectionately then her look turned serious. "When was the last time you changed the dressing?"

His eyebrows shot up. "Oh, good question. I'm pretty sure it wasn't yesterday."

With a perturbed snort, she glared at him. "I'll be back with the bag of medical supplies." She turned with a heavy sigh, muttering under her breath as she disappeared through the doorway, "Men!"

# # # # #

Mike watched as she took the large gauze dressing out of the paper envelope and cut it in half. She gently placed both rectangular pieces of gauze on top of the antibiotic already covering the still raw incision that ran on an angle along his lower right rib cage, from his sternum to his side. The incision from the first operation, to repair his liver and ribs, was higher up and already turning into scar tissue.

She kept glancing at his face to make sure she wasn't hurting him, still a little nervous about her newly learned skill. He smiled encouragingly. The gauze secure, she began to cut strips of the wide surgical tape and, with impressive efficiency, anchored the gauze in place with three long, perfectly placed bands of tape.

She looked up into her father's eyes and he nodded his approval. "How does it feel?" she asked.

He grinned. "Like it was done by a pro." She leaned forward to kiss him and he reached out and pulled her down beside him on the bed to give her a hug.

She giggled as she snuggled closer, wrapping an arm around him, careful to avoid the bandage. She felt him sigh, and knew it was both in joy and sadness. She gave him a quick squeeze then said quietly, "He was here."

She felt him freeze. "What?"

Closing her eyes, knowing she was betraying a trust but also knowing that her father needed the boost, she took a deep breath and said again, "He was here."

And her father knew exactly what she meant.


	20. Chapter 20

Mike looked down at the top of his daughter's head, took a deep breath, then asked quietly, "When was he here?"

He felt her sigh and knew that she was being torn in two directions. "Last night, not too long after you came home." She paused. "He had the file you gave him."

Another deep breath. "Did he say what he wanted?"

She stiffened slightly, then answered quietly, "Well, to see you, of course, but I think he wanted to talk about whatever was in the file. Don't you?"

She felt him nod. "Yeah, of course, sure." He paused, and when he didn't continue, she did.

"I told him you weren't up to visitors just then, and you weren't," she stated flatly, but squeezing him gently in sympathy. "As a matter of fact, I think you were already asleep when he got here."

She could feel him breathe, letting the silence lengthen between them, and she knew he was trying to get up the courage to ask the next question. "What did you say to him?" She knew his eyes were closed.

"I told him I couldn't let him see you, because you were exhausted and still recovering. Then I remembered you told me he was going away and I realized he didn't know you'd gone in for the second surgery."

"What did he say?"

"He was shocked, and concerned, of course. I think he felt guilty." She felt him take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I, ah, I told him what you'd done – going out and trying to find the reason that Gallagher guy has it in for him, even though you were supposed to be in bed recuperating."

She felt his grip around her tighten. "I wish you hadn't told him that, sweetheart," he said quietly.

She pulled away and sat up to face him. He looked worried and guilty. "Why shouldn't he know? Mike, you've risked your life these past few days trying to help him out and he should know that."

Mike shook his head, a long-suffering smile emerging. "Jeannie, I did _not_ risk my life –" he started but she cut him off.

"Because you were lucky - you only exhausted yourself," she shot back sternly. "You know, one of these days you're going to have to realize that you're not really Iron Mike and you're human just like the rest of us."

His smile turned quickly into an annoyed frown but before he could say anything, she continued, "Mike, he still cares about you so much more than he wants to admit, just as I know you care about him." She looked up suddenly and rolled her eyes. "Oh, god, why am I beating around the bush here?" she said to herself, then looked straight into her father's eyes. "He loves you, just as much as you love him." She stared at him, defying him to contradict her.

He held her glare for a long moment. Then he reached out and grabbed her arm and pulled her back down to his side, wrapping his arm around her and kissing the top of her head. She could feel his ragged breaths as he tried to regain the composure she had just shattered.

When he finally got himself under control, he said quietly, "I don't know what to say to him, Jeannie. I really don't."

She smiled as she snaked her arm around him again and squeezed. "You'll know what to say when you see him. You've always been a great conciliator, Daddy. I've seen you do it many times. And you can do it now too, I know you can."

"Conciliator?" she heard him chuckle. "That's a big word for such a little girl."

She squeezed him a bit harder than necessary and heard him yelp slightly. "How many times do I have to tell you I'm not a little girl anymore?"

He chuckled and puller her closer. "You'll always be my little girl."

# # # # #

Steve walked through the door of Homicide, trying not to meet anyone's eye as he crossed to his desk.

"Hey, hey, the prodigal returns," he heard a familiar voice, followed by a few quiet chuckles from around the room.

With a glance towards the inner office and quickly noting Devitt behind Mike's desk and the door closed, Steve spun towards the Armenian sergeant. "Come with me," he said urgently and lowly, with menace in his voice, "I want to talk to you." He turned and walked back out into the corridor.

Glancing nervously around the room, his smile instantly dissolving into a look of guilt and remorse, Haseejian tossed the pencil in his hand onto the desk, stood and followed the young inspector out the door.

Steve was halfway down the hall before Haseejian caught up. "Look, Steve…" he began, a pleading tone in his voice.

The younger man spun on his heel to face him. "What did you tell Rudy, Norm? And, maybe more importantly, what did you tell Mike?"

Haseejian stood stock still, his mouth open and eyes wide. "Unh…"

"Humh?" Steve prompted, eyebrows raised, leaning forward slightly with his hands on his hips.

Swallowing heavily, his entire face contorted in both self-reproach and trepidation, the older man tried a mollifying smile. "Steve, ah, they, uh, they really didn't give me much of a choice, you know…"

"Really?" Steve nodded, continuing to glare. "Both of them?"

Nodding vigorously himself, Haseejian stammered on, "Yeah, they, ah, you know, they're both pretty intimidating guys… and, uh… well, you know, Mike said it wasn't so much I was betraying you but being loyal to him –"

"He said that, hunh?"

"Ah, yeah, uh, those were his exact words, if I remember correctly…" Haseejian began to smile slightly, his eyebrows on the rise as he continued to nod.

"And Captain Olsen?"

"Ah, yeah, Rudy…" Haseejian said quietly, drawing out the words, stalling. He looked down and didn't notice when Steve stood straight, folded his arms and began to grin.

"Norm?"

"Yeah?" the sergeant looked up quickly, then froze in confusion.

"I admit, I was pissed off at you when I found out, but in hindsight, turns out it wasn't as bad as it could have been."

"But I thought you and Mike…?"

"Yeah, we've got some issues to work out," Steve's smile wavered, "but we're gonna be okay." He tried to put as much confidence as he could into his voice, even knowing the road he still had to walk was a long one. "But things have gotten a lot clearer for me in the past couple of days."

"Oh…well, good," Haseejian said tentatively, still confused and stunned at how fast things were changing.

Steve started to walk back toward the Homicide office. The sergeant turned to watch him pass, then asked hopefully, "So, uh, I'm off the hook?"

Steve stopped and walked back until they were nose to nose. "This time," the younger man said with quiet intimidation, and Haseejian blinked, nodding. Then as he moved away again, Steve looked back and grinned coldly, "But don't even think of doing it again."

Rooted to the spot, Haseejian chuckled weakly, swallowed hard, then followed the younger man at a distance.

# # # # #

Steve knocked on the glass door and watched Devitt's head come up. With a broad smile, the lieutenant waved towards the door and he entered.

"Steve, good to see you!" the lean grey-haired man greeted him. "Have a seat."

"Welcome back, Lieutenant," Steve said with a grin as he sat.

"Steve, come on, it's Roy, all right? You don't call Mike 'Lieutenant', do you?"

"Nope."

"There you go."

"So what happened with the task force?"

Grinning, Devitt leaned back in the swivel chair. "We got him. Took a while, but we finally got him. It's long and involved and I'll tell you and Mike all about it over a beer sometime. How's he doing, by the way?"

"Uh," Steve leaned forward slightly, stalling, not knowing exactly how much Devitt knew about what was going on between the partners. "Well, it's, uh, it's slow but he's doing better every day."

"That was a hell of a thing," Devitt offered, his brow furrowing. "A punch, hunh?"

"Yeah," Steve nodded, "but it was a punch from a boxer so, you know, a lot of power there."

"God, I can just imagine how much that must've hurt," Devitt commiserated, squirming slightly. "Poor bastard. I hope he gets back soon."

"Yeah, me too."

"So," Devitt said brightly, breaking the mood and leaning forward, "what can I do for you?"

"Ah, Roger Anderson…"

"Right," Devitt said, nodding, "Rudy and I talked about that. So you think Jack got it wrong and the husband didn't do it?"

Flattening his tie, Steve leaned forward, nodding. "Yeah. He's not a nice guy, Roger Anderson. As a matter of fact, he's a jerk and he wasn't the greatest husband, as far as I can tell, but that doesn't mean he killed his wife."

"So what makes you think he didn't?"

"Well, Mike's always taught me never to take things at face value, to always try to look behind the curtain, so to speak. And that's where I think Gallagher went wrong with this one. Everything pointed to Anderson – the fact that the victim was his wife, killed in the laundry room of their building, his alibi was flimsy – he was drinking in a nearby bar at the time supposedly but the bartender didn't remember him. He also had a history of domestic violence. Like I said, he was an asshole. But I don't think he killed her and I can't put my finger on why."

Devitt was listening carefully and he nodded. "Okay, well, you know what Rudy said. Take the next two or three days and follow up on your hunches. I can't free up anyone to work with you 'cause we're a little swamped getting things back together after, ah, well, after Jack, but you'll be okay on your own, right?"

"Of course. Thanks, Lieutenant – sorry, Roy." They both laughed. "I really appreciate this." Steve got up and turned towards the door.

"Hey, uh," Devitt stopped him, "I heard about you and Jack. Between us," he dropped his voice, "I never liked him too much; we had an…altercation a few years ago and we've never seen eye to eye since then. But I never heard of he and Mike ever having a problem."

Steve shook his head. "Yeah, that's what Mike said." He decided to keep the information Mike had dug up to himself for now until he talked to Mike about it.

"You just never know, do ya? Well, I'm glad things are settling down."

"Yeah, me too," Steve said quietly and with a final nod at the lieutenant, left the office.

# # # # #

It was early evening when Steve pulled the Porsche to a stop, picked up the file from the passenger seat and was just getting out when he glanced towards the De Haro Street house and noticed the tall, gray-haired man coming down the stairs. He looked up the street; Mike's blue sedan was parked a few cars away.

As the stranger reached the sidewalk and started towards a grey station wagon parked at the curb, Steve noticed the black doctor's satchel in the man's hand. His heart suddenly pounding, he watched as the doctor got in his car and pulled away.

Sprinting towards the house, he started up the stairs two at a time. He pounded on the door the second his foot landed on the stoop, startled when Jeannie opened the door almost immediately, a worried look on her face.

Before she could say anything, he blurted out between gasps, "Jeannie, was that a doctor who just left?"

Momentarily alarmed, the young woman pulled her head back slightly, frowning. "What, him? That was Dr. Reynolds. He's Mike's GP."

"Is he okay?" Steve asked quickly, still breathing hard.

Her face softened when she realized how frantic he really was and she smiled. "He's fine. He has a cold and I just wanted Dr. Reynolds to check him out because of everything's that happened recently, that's all."

Dropping his head, trying to get his breathing under control, Steve put one hand on the doorframe to brace himself. Jeannie reached out and placed a hand on his forearm. "Come on in," she said gently.

He stepped over the threshold as she backed away and he stood just beyond the door while she shut it. Looking at him as she walked by him towards the kitchen, she directed, "Have a seat while I get you a cup of coffee. It looks like you could use one."

Nodding at her retreating back as he started towards the sofa, he heard a noise on the staircase and turned in that direction. Dressed in pajamas, bathrobe and slippers, Mike was making his way slowly down the stairs, one hand on the banister. As he came fully into view, he looked towards the living room and stopped. Their eyes met and both men froze.


	21. Chapter 21

They stared at each other for several long seconds then Mike cleared his throat and smiled slightly. "Hi," he said simply as he continued slowly down the steps into the living room.

"Um, ah, hi," Steve said breathlessly, suddenly unable to find his voice, and he took a step or two backwards to make way. Mike crossed painfully slowly to the sofa, where a few pillows and a blanket were already laid out for him. With a hand on the sofa arm, Mike sat gingerly, kicked off his slippers and began to lie down.

Jeannie came in from the kitchen, a mug in her hand. "Oh, you made it," she said brightly to her father, handing the mug to Steve as she passed him on her way to the couch. As Mike leaned back against the pillows, she picked up the blanket and spread it over him. She pulled the coffee table closer to the sofa and set the box of tissues and glass of water within easy reach. As she stood up, she moved a wastepaper basket close as well.

"You okay?" she asked her father as she hovered over him.

"I'm fine," he said with a nod, breathing through his mouth, and Steve could hear that his voice was muffled; it was obvious his sinuses were congested.

Her gaze slid briefly towards Steve and he could see the worry, and the warning, in her eyes. He knew she didn't want him to stay long or upset her father, and her look seemed to suggest that this was all his fault. "I have some things to do around here. I'll be back in a little while with some soup and some aspirin for you, okay?" she said to Mike.

He smiled up at her gratefully. "Thanks, sweetheart."

She kissed his forehead then straightened up and as she moved past Steve, who seemed rooted to the spot, and towards the stairs, gave him another warning glare. When she had disappeared up into her room, he heard Mike cough slightly then say, "Well, don't just stand there. Sit down over here so I can see you."

Almost embarrassed, Steve crossed around the coffee table to the armchair. Putting the mug on the table, he moved the chair so it was facing the couch and sat, the file folder in his lap. Mike looked at it, recognizing it as the one he had given Steve a couple of days before.

"Um, ah, how are you doing?" Steve asked quietly, knowing it was a stupid question but at a loss for something to say.

Mike's concerned gaze melted slightly as he recognized how awkward the younger man seemed and, despite everything, his heart went out to him. With a slight, ironic smile he replied, "I've been better."

Starting to get his bearings back, Steve smiled as well. "I sure hope so." He nodded towards the older man. "How're the ribs?"

Mike shrugged slightly. "Actually, they're getting a lot better. But this cold is a bit of a nuisance. Every time I sneeze or cough it's a killer. So I'm trying not to do that. I'm hoping it just stays in my head, but I don't like my odds," he said with a bit of a chuckle, trying to keep a lightness in his nasally voice.

Steve nodded, worry knitting his brows.

Mike gestured with his head towards the file. "So what do you want to talk to me about?"

Startled slightly, Steve looked down as if baffled by the folder in his hand, then back up. "Oh, um, no, ah, this can wait. There's no rush –"

"Steve," Mike interrupted gently, "you're here. Go ahead and ask me."

Nodding but still reluctant, Steve said quietly. "Okay, you're right. But it's not something I want to ask you; it's something I want to tell you." Suddenly there was life back in his voice, and Mike smiled slightly, warmed by this flash of the old Steve before his eyes.

The younger man got up and crossed around to the other end of sofa. He moved the wastepaper basket and pushed the coffee table away a bit so he could sit cross-legged on the floor. With an enthusiasm he hadn't felt in weeks, he opened the file and took out a sheet of paper that Mike didn't recognize.

"So, okay, I got what you wanted to show me about Paul Bennett being married to Jack Gallagher's daughter Linda, but something told me there had to be more to it than just that. And I'm thinking that that was your guess too, right?"

Steve's bright eyes snapped up from the paper to meet Mike's, suddenly disconcerted by the warmth staring back at him. He hesitated, and a brief smile played across his own features before he looked down at the page once more, not trusting himself to stay calm and collected.

He heard Mike take a breath before he answered, "Yeah, I kinda figured it was too easy."

"Well, uh, you were right," Steve said simply. "I did some calling around. It seems that Jack was pretty certain you were gonna select Bennett for your new partner, and he was kinda bragging about it to a few people. Bennett thought so too." He glanced up again and noticed Mike's smile had disappeared, replaced by a deep frown.

"I have no idea where he got that idea. I never talked about any of you to anyone. Nobody even knew who was on the list."

"Yeah, well, that's what I heard, and from a number of people. So, ah, so you chose me," Steve continued softly, his voice cracking, then paused and looked down, composing himself again, "and, ah, from what I've been told, Bennett didn't take it too well."

"What do you mean?" Mike asked hoarsely, trying to clear his throat.

Steve waited until he knew the older man had himself back under control before he continued. He held up the piece of paper he had been holding. "Three weeks after you made your decision, Paul Bennett assaulted his wife. She left him, and he was busted back to patrol. Jack talked to the brass and they suppressed it; that's why nobody seems to be aware of what happened. Officially it's listed as a reprimand stemming from excessive force against a suspect. But in actuality, the 'suspect' was his wife."

When he finished talking, Steve looked back up at Mike. The older man's face was a mixture of sadness and anger. He reached out and took the sheet of paper. In Steve's handwriting was a list of the all the people he had contacted, the names, dates and times of the phone calls, and all the pertinent information. It was neat and orderly and extremely detailed – just as he had been taught. Mike allowed himself a quick smile of pride before he asked almost rhetorically, "And Jack blames both of us, doesn't he?"

Steve nodded with a facial shrug. "Looks that way."

"And he's done all this just because of that."

Another nod. "It's hard to believe someone could go to that extreme after something so trivial."

Mike tilted his head, looking into the middle distance. "Well, sometimes something that's trivial to you or me might be a matter of life or death to someone else. It's all in the perspective." When Steve nodded slowly in understanding, he continued softly, "When I was a rookie in Homicide, and I was a lot older than you, a young kid - Stillwell I think his name was, yeah, Brandon Stillwell - just got his driver's license and he accidentally backed into a neighbor's car pulling out of a parking spot. Barely made a dent in the chrome, you could hardly see it. Two weeks later, the kid was dead."

Steve pulled his head back sharply, his eyes narrowing, riveted.

"The neighbor obsessed over that dent, threatened Brandon a couple of times and the kid blew him off; you know how kids can be. Then one day Brandon came home from his job as a busboy, and the neighbor attacked him with a baseball bat. The kid was dead before his body hit the sidewalk."

Steve's brow had furrowed and he shook his head, looking down. Suddenly he felt Mike's hand on his back, sliding up to grab the nape of his neck; it was a touch he hadn't felt in a long time, and one he had missed more than he could fathom. Unbidden tears sprang to his eyes.

Under his hand, Mike felt rather than heard the younger man's gasp as he stiffened briefly before starting to shake. He felt the moisture in his own eyes as he tightened his grip on Steve's neck, hoping with this simple gesture all the heartache and discord they had been through would finally be over.

They didn't move for several long moments. Then finally Mike whispered, "You did good, buddy boy, you did really good," gave Steve's neck one more squeeze, slid his hand down the younger man's back then leaned against the pillows and closed his eyes. Through his open mouth he was taking deep, heavy breaths.

Trying to get his roiling emotions under control, Steve sat there and watched, still unsure just how far he could go, then reached out and gently laid a comforting hand on his partner's arm. Despite the weariness, Mike smiled.

Steve heard a door on the second floor open and Jeannie start down the stairs. With a quick squeeze, he removed his hand just as she stepped off the bottom stair and crossed quickly to the sofa. "Daddy, are you okay?" she asked worriedly, moving past Steve to stand over him, and Mike opened his eyes, smiling up at her.

"I'm okay, just a bit tired. Damn cold," he tried to chuckle through his blocked nose.

Her somewhat relieved smile didn't quite make it to her eyes, and she glanced at Steve with a furrowed brow.

"Hey, didn't you mention something about soup earlier?" Mike asked, lifting his head, trying to allay her fears.

"Yeah, I made some chicken noodle soup, and yes, I know it's a cliché," she said with a pointed look towards Steve as if daring him to laugh.

"Sounds wonderful. I'd like a big bowl, please," Mike requested with a chuckle. "Say, why don't you stay and have some?" he asked, looking at Steve and raising his eyebrows. "I'm sure there's plenty." He looked directly into the younger man's eyes, and in that split second they both knew that everything had been forgiven.

Inhaling sharply, smiling suddenly, Steve stammered, "Uh, ah, yeah, sure, if that's okay?" He addressed the last part to Jeannie. Her frown had turned into a small grin as she sat on the edge of the sofa and was rubbing one hand up and down her father's arm in an unconscious gesture of love.

"Two bowls of soup coming up," she chuckled, smiling warmly at them both as she got to her feet and started towards the kitchen.

"Oh, ah, there's a Giants game on TV tonight. They're in L.A. That's why I'm down here. You wanna stay and watch the game with us?" Mike's tone was light and natural and Steve could feel the knot that had been in his stomach for weeks unravel. "Now I'm gonna warn ya, I probably won't be able stay awake beyond the first couple of innings, but I'm gonna give it a try."

Once more exhausted from trying to breathe and talk at the same time, he dropped his head back onto the pillows and groaned with comic theatricality. "By the way, you might be more comfortable sitting in a chair," he snickered softly, eyes closed.

Still stunned and trying to contain his elation, Steve got to his feet and crossed back to the armchair. He pulled it around to Mike's end of the sofa.

Opening his eyes slightly, Mike pointed at the file folder, now on the coffee table. "Hang onto that," he said, "when I get back to work, we're gonna do something about that together."

Nodding, Steve picked up the folder and laid it on the floor beside the chair. He had decided to wait until Mike was healthier before he even considered telling him about the grievance that had been filed. But all that didn't matter right now. He knew he still had wrongs to right, and his reputation to salvage. But he had his partner back, his best friend, and nothing could stop him now.


	22. Chapter 22

"Jeannie, this is amazing!" Steve gushed once again and the young woman giggled.

"All right, Steve, I think that's the fifth time you've told me. Enough!"

"He's just making up for me," Mike said nasally, leaning over the coffee table, looking every bit a man with a cold. "I can't talk and eat soup at the same time – I'd drown…"

The younger pair chuckled amiably. It had turned out to be a wonderful dinner, and no one was more relieved than Jeannie. To have seen what both of these men had been through the past few weeks had been incredibly painful. While her father had been close to his other partners over the years, especially Barney Lujack, there seemed to be no one quite like Steven Keller. And she knew her father had been suffering in his absence.

To see them back together like this made her heart whole – and she could only imagine what had transpired to mend the rift that had sometimes seemed irreparable. She knew they would never tell, and she was fine with that. She had secrets too.

"Okay, well, the game is going to start and I want to get this all cleaned up before it does," she said, standing and picking up her bowl and Steve's. Mike was still working on his as it took him longer to eat and breathe simultaneously. By the time she got back from the kitchen, he was through.

"I give up," he said, his head feeling like it weighed fifty pounds. "I hab to lie down," he moaned comically, "my head's too heavy." He laid back on the pillows on the sofa as Steve and Jeannie laughed, picking up the rest of the kitchenware and retreating into the kitchen.

As he put the items on the counter and turned to go back into the living room, Jeannie caught his arm. Frowning, he turned to her and she smiled. He smiled back. "He missed you," she said quietly and he nodded.

"I missed him too."

With a warmth so reminiscent of her father, she stared at him then asked quietly, "So what happens now? He's not going to be back at work for at least another week, now that he has to deal with this cold first."

"Yeah, I know, but that's okay. Roy Devitt is back and he's subbing for Mike now. Gallagher has been shipped back to Robbery." He watched as her face reflected her relief as he talked. "And there's a case I'm going to be working on on my own –"

"On your own? Steve, is that safe?" she interrupted him, the worry so evident in her voice.

He chuckled and held up both hands. "Relax. The suspect is already in jail – I'm trying to get him out."

"What?"

"This is something I want to talk about with your Dad, not you," he said with raised eyebrows, turning back towards the living room.

The fact that he seemed to be dismissing her put her back up. "Steven Keller, I –" she started, but she was talking to the back of his head as he was already gone.

Mike's eyes were open and he was breathing heavily through his mouth when Steve walked back into the living room. "You want to turn the TV on? I think the game is starting," he said dully with a short cough.

Steve glanced back as he crossed to the TV; Mike had pulled several tissues from the box and was lying back with the tissues at the ready as if waiting for a sneeze. As he turned on the TV, he tried to suppress the smile that surfaced unintentionally, hearing his grandmother's words in his head, 'There is nothing worse than a man with a cold. You would think the world was coming to an end!'

"You may hab to turn that up a bit, I can't hear too well. My ears are blocked," Mike moaned.

Steve started to laugh, but he wasn't sure if it was from the self-pity emanating from the sofa or just plain relief that everything was getting back to normal.

# # # # #

The Giants managed to hang on for the win. After the final out, Jeannie got up from her position on the floor leaning against the sofa near her father, and turned off the set. In the armchair, Steve glanced over at Mike, who had fallen into a restless sleep during the bottom of the third.

"I guess you can tell him about it tomorrow," Steve chuckled affectionately as he got up.

"Yeah," Jeannie agreed as she turned away from the set. "I'm not gonna wake him, he can spend the night down here." She looked around the room. "So I guess I will too."

"What do you mean?"

"I want to keep an eye on him and I can't do that from my bedroom, so I guess I'm sleeping in the armchair tonight," she said with raised eyebrows and a shrug.

"Look, Jeannie, it's Saturday tomorrow and I don't have to go into work. Why don't I stay? I'll sleep in the chair." He raised his own eyebrows and smiled. "I've done that before – well, not here - and I don't mind sleeping in my clothes."

"You're sure?" He nodded. She hesitated for just a moment before agreeing, realizing how important this was for him. "You've got a deal," she giggled. "I'll get you a pillow and a blanket. Do you need anything else?"

He glanced at Mike, who was breathing noisily through his open mouth. "Ear plugs?"

# # # # #

Mike came awake with a start, sitting up, coughing slightly and gasping for air. He recovered quickly and looked around, realizing it was almost pitch black in the room and he was lying on the couch. Bleary-eyed, his head still stuffed and pounding, he dropped back onto the pillows and was about to close his eyes again when his gaze fell on the figure spread-eagled in the armchair, covered in a blanket.

He smiled, gratified and a little guilty that his daughter was worried enough to stay with him. He was closing his eyes again when he realized it wasn't Jeannie but Steve.

A warmth spread over him as his smile got wider, trying to stop the tears he knew were forming. The last few weeks had been so incredibly difficult in a lot of ways; the separation from this remarkable young man had been the hardest.

When he had made the choice months ago, after a long and exhaustive selection process, it had felt so right that he never once had a second thought. Then when they had hit it off so quickly and the easy familiarity they soon took for granted settled over them, he knew that he not only had a new partner but a relationship that would last for the rest of his life.

Then, those words that had cut him so deeply, spoken in anger. They had done much more than just sting, and a lingering nagging doubt surfaced again – just how much truth was actually behind them? He was almost afraid to know and as he stared at the sleeping young man, an ache began to creep back into his heart.

He laid his head back against the pillows, struggling to breath normally, wishing he didn't have to fight these physical problems as well as the inner demons still haunting his soul. He wanted, and needed, to be on top of his game right now, to use every weapon in his personal arsenal to fight his way back to the life he had been enjoying before all this had started, before one ill-timed and unfortunate intervention had turned his world upside down.

Reluctantly resigned to his current situation, he glanced once more at his sleeping partner, closed his eyes and tried to will himself back to sleep, and back to his usual robust health.

# # # # #

Steve came awake slowly, realizing he was sprawled in a chair, a blanket pulled up over most of his head. Slightly stiff, he reached up to pull the blanket away from his face and looked straight into the open eyes of his partner.

"Goob morning," came the muffled salutation.

Smiling as he slowly sat up, and suddenly aware of the heavenly aroma of fresh-brewed coffee, Steve chuckled. "Good morning. I see you're not much better this morning."

Shaking his head, looking like a forlorn moose, Mike growled, "'No," managing to encapsulate all his frustration into that one short syllable.

Jeannie poked her head out from the kitchen. "Oh good, you're awake. Coffee?"

"Yes, please," Steve answered happily as he got to his feet and began to fold the blanket.

"Coming up." She disappeared again.

"I didn't know you were staying," Mike said quietly.

Steve glanced over, continuing to fold. "Yeah, I figured I'd consumed too much chicken noodle soup to trust myself behind the wheel."

"Ha ha ha," Mike moaned dryly as he pushed his own blanket aside and lowered his feet to the floor, looking for his slippers.

Jeannie stepped back into the living room with Steve's mug of coffee just in time to see her father start to push himself up. "Hey, where do you think you're going?" she barked sharply.

Mike stopped mid-motion and looked at her darkly from under a lowered brow. She hesitated for a second. "Oh," she said softly, chagrined, recognizing the look from having seen it a number of times in the past several days. "Sorry."

Initially confused but quickly catching on, Steve glanced rapidly from father to daughter and back again. "I, ah, I'll give him a hand." He took a step towards the older man.

Mike turned his glare towards his partner. "Only up the stairs. I am quite capable of doing everything else by myself." His patience was rapidly waning.

Trying to hide his affectionate smirk, Steve nodded and, as he took another step forward, he could see Jeannie doing the same.

As the pair started slowly up the stairs, Steve trailing protectively behind, Jeannie called after them, "Mike, you stay upstairs and get into bed. I'll bring your breakfast up in a few minutes."

Chuckling to herself and shaking her head, she went back into the kitchen.

# # # # #

Jeannie opened the front door and grinned with a weary sigh. "Welcome back to the house of horrors, or maybe I should say 'Abandon hope all ye who enter here'!"

"Has he been that bad?" Steve asked as he handed her one of the two wine bottles he was carrying and stepped over the threshold.

As she shut the door behind him, she chuckled, "Oh, not really. He's pretty miserable but he's been sleeping most of the day, thank goodness. But dear god, men with colds!" When Steve glanced at her darkly, she sobered, saying with patently false back-pedaling, "Present company excepted, of course!"

"Right," he retorted skeptically, nodding at her in disbelief. He sniffed the air as he moved deeper into the living room, a large file in hand. "That smells wonderful. Pot roast?"

"What else?" she chuckled as he walked past him towards the kitchen and he followed her in. They put both wine bottles on the counter. "He said he feels up to it, so we'll see. Want a glass?" She nodded towards the bottle of red.

"Yeah, sure."

"Opener's in the top drawer, help yourself." As he opened the drawer and found what he was looking for, she nodded towards the file he had placed on the counter.

"Is that the case you want to talk to Mike about? The guy you want to get out of jail?"

"Yep." He was twisting the corkscrew into the top of the bottle.

"Isn't that counter-productive to what you and Mike are supposed to be doing?"

"Not when the guy is innocent," he replied as he placed the bottle between his knees and reefed the cork out with a satisfying pop.

"Sounds intriguing," she mused as she took two wine glasses out of the cupboard and put them on the counter.

Steve glanced at the second glass then looked at her with a cocked eyebrow. "You're not old enough to drink," he stated quietly, and she stared at him with a wry smile.

"Mike lets me have a glass now and then," she informed him with a quiet confidence. When he didn't say anything, she sighed and put three fingers to her forehead. "Scout's honor. And if you don't believe me, go and ask him."

With a wry smile of his own, he shook his head and chuckled.

"As I was saying," she leaned against the counter, watching him, "sounds intriguing."

"Oh, it is – especially since it was Jack Gallagher who put him in." He poured the wine, then looked up to meet her fascinated stare. He smiled and bobbled his eyebrows.

"Well then," she said with barely contained glee, "don't let me stop you. I think he's awake. You two have to get to work. I'll let you both know when dinner's ready."

She had picked up her glass and held it out. He put the bottle down and lifted his and, locking eyes, they clinked their glasses in a silent toast.


	23. Chapter 23

Steve looked up from the file and put his hands on the back of his neck, twisting his head slowly from side to side to get the kinks out. He rolled his shoulders and straightened his spine, inhaling deeply. He had been leaning over his desk, working through the Anderson file very slowly, reading each and every report, each and every note, each and every word over and over again. And he still had nothing concrete to show for it.

He and Mike had pored over the file for a couple of hours the previous evening as Steve had led his partner through the initial investigation that had culminated in Gallagher's arrest of Roger Anderson for the murder of his wife Sheila. On the surface, it all looked cut and dried, but there was something, a niggling uncertainty, almost like a burr under the saddle, that Steve couldn't ignore.

"So," Mike had asked gently, "what's got you all riled up here?" He looked over the papers scattered on top of the covers at the young man sitting on the far corner of his bed.

Frustrated at not being able to put his thoughts into words, Steve looked down and shook his head vigorously. "I don't know, and that's what's bugging me. And before you say it, no, it's not because it's Gallagher. I mean, I would really like to stick it to him over this, but that's _not_ why this has been bothering me so much."

Mike, still in his pajamas and bathrobe, had taken off his glasses and stared at the younger man without expression during the short rant. "Okay," he said slowly, a smile in his voice. "Just as long as it's not because it's Gallagher," he continued dryly and Steve glared at him, then smiled and chuckled.

Throwing his hands in the air, Steve shook his head. "All right, I get it, you're right. Gallagher _has_ something to do with it. But it's more than that, Mike, it really is." He paused and collected himself then stared into the calm blue eyes, trying to ignore the red-rimmed manifestation of their owner's continuing battle with the common head cold.

"God, I wish you were coming to work with me on Monday," Steve sighed with a dry chuckle.

Mike grunted. "So do I. It feels like I haben't been in the office in months." He paused and cocked his head. "On second thought, I _haben't_ been in the office in months. Two months, actually."

Though he knew Mike was trying to make a joke of it, the reality of the length of their time apart hit very close to home for the younger man. Shaking himself back to the present, he glanced down at the papers on the bed and sighed. "Okay, well, back to this."

With a grunt of agreement, Mike put his glasses back on and leaned over the notes and reports once again.

"Mike, I know I can't put it into words right now, but you're always telling me to go with my gut, right? And in this case, my gut is telling me that this Roger guy didn't do it. And that's the only fact I have right now."

Mike straightened up and looked at the younger man over his glasses. "Well, buddy boy, that's good enough for me. Go with it." He took off his glasses. "I know you told me that Rudy and Roy hab only given you a couple of days on this but I'll go you one better. If you habn't run with this as far as you think you need to by the time I get back into the office, then you and I'll work on this together. Is that a deal?"

Steve's face split into a grin and his eyes lit up. "Yeah, it's a deal."

Mike chuckled. "I'd shake on it but I'm just full of germs right now. Then again, I'm sure I'b infected you already. So good luck with that."

Smiling at the memory, Steve glanced towards the inner office; Devitt was in a closed-door meeting with Haseejian and Walters. He sighed. As much as he liked Devitt, it was going to be so sweet to have Mike back.

# # # # #

He was still sitting at his desk studying the file when Sergeant Dan Healey dropped into the guest chair. Startled, Steve looked up with a frown.

Healey smiled. "Sorry, kid, didn't know you were miles away."

For some reason, Steve never minded it when Healey called him 'kid'. There was no viciousness or superiority in the sobriquet, and it hadn't taken long for Steve to realize the grizzled veteran called anyone younger than himself 'kid'.

Steve sat back with a warm chuckle "No problem. What can I do for you, Dan?"

Glancing quickly and almost furtively around the room, Healey leaned forward. "I, ah, I see you're going over the Anderson case again," he said quietly. When Steve's brow furrowed, he added quickly, "I snuck a look when you went to the can about an hour ago. Don't worry, I was the only one. And I made sure nobody saw me either."

With a short, exasperated sigh, his eyes boring into the older man, Steve hissed quietly, "So?" He leaned closer to the Irish detective.

Another quick, eyes only glance around the room to make sure no one was within earshot. "So I remember reading a bulletin that came out, oh, maybe five, six months ago. From upstate. A young woman murdered in much the same way this Anderson woman was – strangled in her home in the middle of the day, husband suspected. But I think in that case he wasn't arrested. Not enough evidence." Healey sat back slightly. "Now it might not be related, but there's enough of a coincidence there to check it out I would think. Don't you?"

After a brief pause, his brow unfurrowing, Steve reached for his notebook and pen. He flipped to a clean page. "Do you remember what department that was?"

With an apologetic frown and shaking his head, Healey answered, "Sorry, no. I've been trying to remember and nothing pops up, but I'm pretty sure it was upstate. Look, ah, I'll keep trying to come up with something more and if I do…" With raised eyebrows, he let the rest of the sentence hang as he got up and started away.

"Dan," Steve said sharply to get the older man's attention. When the sergeant turned back, he said quietly, "Thanks. This could be a big help."

With a nod and a genial smile, Healey moved back to his own desk. Steve sat back, thought for several seconds, then leaned back over the desk and picked up the phone.

# # # # #

"He's in bed," Jeannie said with a nod up the stairs as she stepped back from the front door to let Steve pass. "It moved down into his chest and he's just miserable. Every time he coughs, the pain in his ribs is excruciating. And there's nothing we can do to help; it's just gotta run its course."

The worry in her voice was disturbing; the 'man with a cold' shtick was a thing of the past.

"Can I see him?"

She chuckled. "Are you kidding? That's all he's been asking me all day, 'When is Steve gonna get here?'"

He smiled, hefting the file he was holding. "Maybe this'll take his mind off things for awhile."

"Oh, I hope so." As he turned to the stairs, she added, "I'm just about to take some of the chicken noodle soup up to him. You want some?"

Steve nodded with a grin. "I'd love some, thanks."

"You got it." She headed towards the kitchen as he started up the stairs. He knocked lightly on the master bedroom door before opening it slowly.

Mike was half-sitting up against a small mountain of pillows, in his blue pajamas, covers pulled up to his waist. He was surrounded by magazines, sections of a newspaper and a box of tissue. The wastepaper basket beside the bed was almost full of used tissue. His face lit up when he recognized his visitor but the smile did little to mask the lines of pain that seemed etched into his features. "Hey, I was wondering when you were gonna get here?" he said happily, but keeping his voice low.

"Well, at least it's not in your head anymore," Steve sympathized as he crossed closer to the bed.

"No," Mike shook his head, "but now it's in my chest, and it hurts like hell. I don't want to talk too much so I won't cough."

"Understood. So I'll do all the talking." He held up the file.

Mike's eyes lit up even more. "You got something?"

Nodding with a wide smile, Steve cleared away some of the magazines and papers and sat on the edge of the bed. "Believe it or not, somebody came up with something and I think I might have another direction to look in." Staring into Mike's curious eyes, he opened the file. "Dan. Told me he remembered a bulletin that came over his desk about five or six months ago from upstate. A young woman killed in her home, strangled, in the middle of the day. Her husband was suspected but not charged."

As he spoke, he saw Mike's eyes unfocus. Now the older man held out a hand. "Wait a minute," he whispered then fell silent for a few seconds. He snapped his fingers then looked up into Steve's eyes. "Redding. It was in Redding, wasn't it?"

Steve sat back slightly and shook his head, awed.

"Damn," Mike continued, "why didn't I think of that?"

"Are you kidding me?" Steve asked facetiously, an ironic smile building. "Uh, Mike, in case you haven't noticed, you've kinda been having to deal with some, oh I don't know, personal problems lately."

With a grumpy frown, Mike glared at him. "That's no excuse." When Steve continued to stare, Mike bobbed his head from side to side and shrugged slightly. "Okay, you might be right," he agreed quietly.

"Thank you," Steve shot back dryly with a gentle chuckle. "But you're right, it was Redding." He dropped the file onto the bed, keeping a couple of sheets of paper in one hand. "So, I gave the police department up there a call today. Talked to a Sergeant Furlong." He turned a sheet around so Mike could read it. "Janet Malone was found strangled to death in the kitchen of her home on August 20th, a Thursday.

Whoever it was used one of her husband's ties. None of the neighbours saw or heard anything… She was three months pregnant."

He heard Mike sigh sadly as his eyes scanned down the paper in his hand.

"They suspected the husband at first because they'd been called to the house a couple of times on domestic disturbance calls, but he was at work; he works construction, and over 20 people vouched for him, so he was eliminated."

Mike looked up at him, brow furrowed.

"They didn't have any other leads, so the case went cold. They're still trying to find something, but so far nothing. They're toying with the idea that it's a stranger murder. Redding is on the Interstate so…." He shrugged.

"You know what this means, right?" Mike asked him softly.

Steve smiled. "It means I'm going on a road trip."

Chuckling, Mike smiled back. "Well, yes, but it also means that there could be more of these unsolved stranglings that we don't know about yet."

Steve's smile disappeared as he sagged where he sat. "Yeah, you're right. This could just be the tip of the iceberg."


	24. Chapter 24

It was shortly before noon when the gold Porsche slipped onto the exit ramp off the 5 and across the Sacramento River into Redding. Glancing at the hand-written directions on the pad on the seat beside him, Steve Keller made his way to the Cypress Avenue location of the police department.

Less than thirty minutes later he was sitting beside Sergeant Alan Furlong on a stool at the counter in The Damburger. "It's great you could come up today, Inspector," the uniformed officer said amiably. "Let's hope both of us get something out of this."

"Amen," Steve agreed with a chuckle, "and it's Steve, okay?" He set the file on the desk and opened it. "So, this is what we have on the Anderson murder," he started and began to lay out everything he knew about the San Francisco killing. Furlong listened intently, nodding, but kept silent until the younger man had finished.

"Wow," Furlong said quietly, exhaling loudly. "It's an almost carbon copy of ours, except Janet Malone was killed in her living room instead of a laundry room, and with a tie instead of a belt. But other than that, they were close to the same age, same body type – petite blond – and both were strangled. And both husbands were suspected, both had a history of violence. Only ours had an airtight alibi."

"Yeah, and that's what has me thinking that our arrest of Anderson's husband may have been a bit premature. He didn't have an airtight alibi, but something tells me he didn't do it – I just don't know what that something is."

Furlong chuckled. "That 'something' is what sets great detectives apart from good ones." He eyed the younger man closely. "Just how old are you, if you don't mind me asking?"

Steve, far from being offended, was flattered and amused. "Twenty-six."

"Dear god, we have officers on this force that have more years in than that. I can hardly wait to introduce you to them," Furlong laughed. "Don't get me wrong, Steve, I'm impressed, but there's gotta be someone who's really on your side in your department, am I right?"

Steve grinned and nodded. "You're right. And he happens to be my partner. He's the head of homicide."

Furlong's smile wavered slightly as a subtle look of concern flashed across the younger man's face. But he was too much of a professional, and a gentleman, to inquire further.

The waitress put two large plates down in front of them. "Gentlemen, your burgers," she announced cheerfully. "Want me to refresh your drinks?" She indicated their half empty glasses with her head.

"Why, thank you, Fran, that would be nice," Furlong smiled. His grin grew wider as he watched the young inspector examining his all-dressed thin patty burger and pile of crisp French fries. "Best burger in town, bar none."

Steve raised his eyebrows and tilted his head. "Looks good." He picked it up with both hands and took a bite.

"So, ah," the Redding sergeant said after swallowing a mouthful of burger, "you want to see the Malone house? It's still empty. In a city this small, no one wants to have anything to do with 'the murder house', so it's probably going to stay empty for a very long time."

# # # # #

The tour of the abandoned bungalow yielding nothing, Steve and Sergeant Furlong were standing on the lawn in the bright afternoon sunshine. The roar of the traffic was a constant background noise.

"Alan, how long does it take to get from the 5 to here, do you estimate?"

The sergeant looked in the direction of the highway. "Oh, no more than five minutes at the most. Maybe less."

Steve nodded slowly.

"So you think our killer may have left the highway, drove around the neighbourhood till he found someone that fit his 'criteria'… and then what? Was it spontaneous? Or did he take some time and study them first?"

"That's what we still have to figure out, isn't it?" the San Francisco inspector said slowly, staring into the distance.

# # # # #

It was just past seven when a weary Steve Keller slid the Porsche close to the curb at the bottom of De Haro. Even making good time and not encountering much traffic, it had been a long day driving upstate and back, but he wanted to check in with Mike before heading home.

Hoping his partner was still awake, he grabbed the two file folders from the passenger seat, locked the car and climbed both the street and the steep flight of stairs to the Stone front door.

He had only knocked once when Jeannie opened the door, her brow furrowing in sympathy. "Oooh, you look exhausted," she said with a tiny empathetic chuckle, reaching out to grab his arm and pull him across the threshold. "Have you had dinner?"

He shook his head. "No, but I'm okay. Really, I had a big lunch."

"Steve, I have some leftover pot roast and potatoes in the fridge. Let me warm some up for you while you go up and see Mike." She smiled knowingly. "He was asleep last time I checked but he's been waiting all day for you to come back. He's dying to find out what you learned up there."

"How's he doing?"

"Not much better, but he's in a better frame of mind at least. You've given him something to think about other than his health, and that's the best thing you could've done for him right now. I have a feeling he's thinking he's never going to get back to work at this rate."

"Well, it has been awhile. I can understand his frustration." He glanced up the stairs and then back at her. "And I'd love some pot roast, thank you."

She leaned forward and on tiptoe gave him a peck on the cheek. "Coming right up," she giggled as she disappeared into the kitchen.

He quietly climbed the stairs to the second floor and slowly opened the bedroom door. The room was dark and silent and he was just about to retreat and shut the door when he heard a quiet, "Steve?"

He opened the door wider. "Yeah."

"Come on in, I've been waiting for you to get back." Mike's voice was low and gravelly, almost weak.

The bedside lamp came on and Steve could see the older man leaning on his elbow, one hand on the lamp; he began to push himself into a sitting position. Knowing Mike would want to see what he had brought back, and that they would need more illumination, he snapped on the overhead.

"How are you feeling?"

Mike was piling the pillows up against the headboard. He shook his head slowly. "Like crap. I'm at the end of the 'three days here' part of that old wives' tale. The worst part is supposed to be over after today… I'll survive."

Steve tried to keep the worry from his eyes but he wasn't sure he was being successful. He had never seen his partner looking so unwell and it was disturbing.

Sensing the younger man's concern, Mike managed a smile. "So," he said with a reasonable facsimile of unbridled enthusiasm, "what did you find out up there?"

Taking his cue, Steve managed his own smile as he crossed the room to sit on the edge of the bed, holding up the two files. "Well, not as much as I'd hoped, but it wasn't a complete bust."

As Mike lay back against the pillows and studied his partner with eyes half open, Steve relayed, in broad strokes, the pertinent information he had collected during his short stay in Redding. He showed Mike the Polaroid pictures that Furlong had taken of the Malone home and he described the proximity of the house to the highway.

Picking up the black-rimmed reading glasses from the night table, Steve passed them over then handed Mike the copies of the police reports of the Malone murder, allowing the older man to read them for himself.

Giving them a cursory once-over, Mike handed the papers back with a frustrated sigh. "Well, that doesn't tell us too much, other than both murders are eerily similar. So what's your thinking on this?"

"Well, the easy access from the 5 is interesting, but there were a lot of houses a lot closer that someone just coming in off the highway could've picked. So, I'm thinking, there's gotta be more, like the choice of victim. Sheila Anderson and Janet Malone looked alike, in a way, so there's the possibility this guy has a 'type' – but with only two victims, that's all hypothetical."

"So's the possibility of a mass murderer. We can't jump to conclusions here, buddy boy, we have a lot of work to do if we're gonna head in that direction."

"Yeah, and the Anderson house is even further from the highway as well. We might not be on the right track here at all." Steve took a deep, frustrated breath and shrugged. "Maybe I'm wrong, maybe Roger Anderson did do it."

"Now don't go getting cold feet on me," Mike said with a low chuckle, trying not to trigger a cough. "You managed to convince _me_ and I think you're onto something."

Steve nodded with a concurring grimace. "Okay."

"I'm not much help right now, so you've gotta do all the thinking for both of us for the next few days. So don't let me down," Mike finished with a chuckle and a warm smile.

"Knock, knock," said Jeannie from the hall and the men looked towards her as she came through the door with a folded up TV tray. "I thought you'd like to eat in here, keep Mike company."

Steve got up quickly and took the tray from her. "Yeah, sure," he glanced at Mike, who nodded, "that would be great, thanks."

She nodded back with a smile. "It's gonna be about another half hour till it's warm enough," she informed him then disappeared out the door as Steve set the tray close to the bed.

"Pot roast," he said with a grin and raised eyebrows.

"Ummm," Mike smiled with an almost sensual chuckle, "the left-overs are so good, like vintage wine."

"Down, boy," Steve barked and they both laughed, Mike stopping quickly before he began to cough. Satisfied the older man was okay, Steve asked, "Have you eaten?"

"Yeah, I'm good. I'll read the reports in more detail while you eat, see if I can get my brain working again."

Jeannie poked her head in the door once more. "Daddy, I want to rub your chest again before Steve's dinner's ready so he doesn't have to deal with the smell."

Mike glanced guiltily at Steve, who chuckled. "Go for it, it has to be done, right?"

Rolling his eyes and starting to undo his pajama top, Mike looked at his daughter and nodded. She crossed around to the far side of the bed and sat on the edge, a jar of Vicks in her hand. Mike opened his top, and for the first time Steve saw the large bandage that still covered the incision on his right side.

Mike noticed the look and smiled knowingly as Jeannie began rubbing the pungent menthol-smelling ointment on her father's chest. "As long as I don't cough too hard, it doesn't hurt," Mike said to Steve.

"Can you feel the plate?"

Mike shook his head. "Nope. It's under my ribs. I really don't even remember it's there sometimes."

Finished, Jeannie got up, trying not to touch anything with her right hand. As Mike began to do up his top, he started to cough. With a anxious gasp, Jeannie dropped back down onto the bed and put her hand on his chest again. He was leaning forward, almost doubled over, his left hand pressed against his injured ribs as the coughs wracked his body, almost whimpering from the pain.

Alarmed, Steve stepped closer to the bed, uncertain of what he could do. Jeannie was staring at her father's face as he struggled to get the coughing, and the pain, under control. It seemed to take forever until the coughs became weaker and further apart and then finally stopped altogether.

But the agony lingered and, exhausted and sore, Mike laid back against the pillows and closed his eyes, taking deep long breaths through his open mouth. Jeannie and Steve stared in worry, then she looked at the younger man and the fear in her eyes was disturbing. Summoning an encouraging smile, Steve crossed to her side of the bed, took her arm and helped her to her feet.

"I've got this," he said to her quietly and he sat where she had been, turned to the bed with a comforting smile and slipped his hand into Mike's.

The pain beginning to subside, Mike opened his eyes slightly, a small warm smile emerging when he recognized his young partner staring at him. His face lighting up, Steve looked from Mike to Jeannie, and in his grin they could both see what he was trying to let them know, that they were going to get through all this together.


	25. Chapter 25

He woke up slowly, as if pleasantly drifting in a warm pool, and very reluctant to open his eyes. He was cozy and comfortable, and for the first time in ages, he felt almost rested. Ever so slowly he brought his right hand up and pulled the blanket away from his face, becoming aware of the light through his closed lids. He inhaled deeply, smiling as the rich, recognizable aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled his nostrils.

Opening his eyes and pushing the blanket aside he sat up and stretched, glancing around the increasingly familiar Stone living room with a sunny smile. It had been easy to get a good night's sleep after the evening he had spent in the company of his partner and his daughter. After Mike's frighteningly painful bout of uncontrolled coughing, things had settled down nicely and the pair of detectives had gone over the reports from Redding once more, bandying about theories and suppositions.

By the time the evening had drawn to a close, over mugs of hot cocoa and conversation that included Jeannie and a lot of laughter, Mike had rallied and was feeling much better, which was a welcome sign.

Steve stood and stretched again, then casually strolled towards the kitchen and the highly anticipated first coffee of the day. He stepped through the entrance and froze.

Mike, in his pajamas, bathrobe, slippers and reading glasses, was sitting at the kitchen table, poring over an opened road map, a pen in his right hand. A mug was on the table near his left elbow. He looked up unhurriedly and peered at the younger man overtop of his glasses, smiling warmly.

"Good morning. Pour yourself a cup of coffee." He nodded towards the percolator on the counter. "Mugs are in the cupboard." He looked back down at the map.

"Um, what…?"

Mike looked up again, grinning. "Woke up this morning feeling great. Not a hundred percent, of course, but well enough to send Jeannie to school."

Still confused, Steve slowly raised his left wrist and glanced at his watch. 9:15.

"You're gonna have to pour your own coffee," Mike continued, gesturing once more towards the percolator, "I'm kinda busy."

With a slow shake of his head, still speechless, Steve shuffled to the counter and removed a mug from the cupboard as instructed. Mike watched him from the table with a barely controlled smile then looked down once more at the map.

His coffee prepared, Steve covered the short distance to the table, pulled out the second chair and sat heavily, staring at the top of his partner's downturned head. When he didn't say anything, Mike finally looked up, taking off his glasses. "What?"

"So, uh, last night you could barely get outa bed, and now…?" He gestured at the older man with his coffee cup.

"Yeah, I know. Great, hunh? Oh, uh, there's fresh bread in the breadbox, help yourself. Sorry, didn't have time to get fancy this morning." He pointed at the map with his glasses, then put them on and stared at it again.

With a happy snort, Steve sat back and smiled, then took a sip of the coffee. Relieved more than he cared to admit, after a few silent seconds he leaned over the table once more. "So what's going on here?"

Mike sat back and took his glasses off again. "Well, after you went to bed last night, I kept thinking about everything we talked about. I couldn't get my mind to shut down, which hasn't happened in a long time." He grinned and raised his eyebrows. "It felt great." His happy chuckle was almost self-conscious then he cleared his throat quickly. "Anyway, I had Jeannie bring in the California map from the car this morning, and I've been going over it, circling every large town and small city along the 5."

Leaning even further over the table, Steve smiled, intrigued.

"Now we figured he wouldn't risk attacking someone in a small town as it's harder to 'blend in' in a smaller town because everybody knows everybody, or damn close. So we've gotta figure out which of these towns," he pointed to the map again, "has a population over a thousand, which I figure is probably even smaller than what he'd feel comfortable in, right?"

"Right," Steve said slowly, his eyes, alight with an awe-filled warmth, having never left his partner's face.

Mike glanced up at him, almost absent-mindedly noticing the expression, looked down at the map then back up again quickly. "What?"

Steve's grin spread slowly. "Welcome back."

Mike blinked several times, his face blank, then the light dawned and he chuckled, looking down briefly, embarrassed. "Oh, ah, thanks." He cleared his throat slightly and dropped his eyes once more to the map.

"So what, exactly, are you planning to do with that?" Steve gestured vaguely towards the map with his coffee cup.

"Well, I figured we'd make a list of all the places on the 5, then find out how big the towns are – I wonder who we need to contact for that? Census Bureau? Is there a state census bureau or do we have to go federal?" These last three questions were spoken so quietly Steve was pretty sure Mike was talking to himself. "Anyway, once we get a list of the cities and big towns, then we give their police departments a call and see if they have anything that even remotely resembles the Anderson/Malone murders." He grinned enthusiastically. "So, what do you think?"

Steve was staring at him with widened eyes, looking slightly shell-shocked. "I'd forgotten you're a morning person," he said quietly, then started to laugh affectionately.

Mike joined in, shaking his head. "Sorry –"

"No, don't apologize," Steve said quickly, "I think this is fabulous."

"Good. So, ah, do you have to go into the office today or could we do this from here? 'Cause I know Jeannie'd have my hide if I went into the office today."

"She's not the only one," the younger man said in a mock threatening tone that wasn't entirely in jest. "No, don't forget, I'm still working this on my own, so where I want to work it from is my decision, at least for the next couple of days."

"Great. So why don't we –"

"Ah, ah, ah," Steve said quickly, getting to his feet. "Lieutenant, sir, do you mind if I make a trip to the bathroom and then have a little breakfast before you put me to work?"

# # # # #

Expanding upon, and then winnowing down, Mike's preliminary list of cities and large towns turned out to be a formidable task that took up most of the morning. Then an afternoon call to US Census Bureau in Maryland became the first of what would become, over the coming days, an impressive, and costly, string of long-distance telephone calls. It took awhile to find someone at the Census Bureau headquarters willing to write down the list; after many entreaties and, finally, threats from Mike using the full force of his rank, with a modicum of embellishment, Steve relayed the list and engendered a promise from the hapless low-level bureaucrat on the other end of the line that the needed information would not be long forthcoming.

By the time Jeannie walked through the front door after school, both men were exhausted, Steve mentally and Mike physically.

Her father, who had changed into khaki pants and a checked shirt earlier in the day, passed her in the living room, yawning loudly as he kissed her on the cheek before starting up the stairs. "Don't touch the papers on the kitchen table," he mumbled as he disappeared through his bedroom door, shutting it behind him.

Steve, shrugging on his jacket as he crossed towards the door and fishing his keys out of his pocket, thanked her for last night's dinner and wished her a good evening before walking wearily out the front door.

She glanced at her watch; it was only 4:52. Confused, she walked slowly into the kitchen then stopped abruptly, her jaw falling open. Her eyes fell first on the piles of paper, pads and pens covering the entire table. Above the table, the California road map had been taped to the wall, and she could see a series of small circles stretching up and down the state in more or less a straight line.

Slowly her gaze traveled to the rest of the small kitchen and she winced with a slight groan. Four dirty coffee cups, five plates, assorted cutlery, an open half-loaf of bread, several cans of Coca-Cola and ginger ale, and a large empty pizza box littered the counter and sink. A heavy cast-iron frying pan was sitting on a burner on the stove, the remains of what she assumed had been grilled-cheese sandwiches stuck to the bottom.

Shaking her head with a heavy sigh, she leaned against the doorframe, realizing that, after she cleaned up, it was going to be a long and extremely quiet evening.

# # # # #

They met again in Mike's kitchen the next morning. Fueled by cups of strong coffee and the fresh donuts that Steve had picked up from Mike's favourite bakery, they waited impatiently for the promised call from the hopefully helpful Census Bureau employee. They eyed the wall clock; as the minute hand reached the '12' signaling 9 a.m. on the west coast, noon in Maryland, their stares shifted to the phone.

Twenty-five seconds later, it rang. Steve picked up the receiver, listened for a split second then looked at Mike and smiled. With a pad and pen at the ready, he sat back down at the table and began to make a list. Several minutes, and many thanks, later, Steve hung up and handed the pad to Mike. "We have our list."

With an anticipatory smile, Mike nodded. "Yes, we do."

Their day was just beginning. Obtaining the phone numbers of local police departments required many calls to Directory Assistance. Not wanting to annoy anyone too much, they only requested five numbers at a time, and they took turns making the calls. Still, it took most of the morning to compile all the relevant numbers.

By early afternoon, they began their 'official' calls. They asked to speak to whomever was in charge of homicide investigations; some calls were taken right away, with other departments they had to leave messages. They explained the reason for their inquiries, giving few details but requesting any information with regards to any solved, or unsolved, murders or attempted murders, in the past five years, that resembled in any way the two of which they were already aware.

As they knew it would take time for the files to be researched, if no one had immediate recollection of any similar cases, they requested that the returning calls be made no earlier than the next day, as the phone they were calling from would be tied up for the remainder of the day with subsequent calls.

As Mike hung up after completing his conversation with a sergeant from the Corning Police Department, he sat back and rubbed the nape of his neck, stretching tiredly. Steve glanced up from his perusal of the list of places they still had to contact. "You know, these calls are going to cost a lot," he ventured cautiously, knowing only too well how careful Mike was with a dime.

"Oh, I know," Mike nodded ruefully, "I thought about that. But I don't want anyone to know what we're doing just yet, in case we're wrong. And I kinda figured that, well, I saved a lot of money on lunches and dinners these past two months, so it'll kinda even out, I hope." He grinned with a chuckle. "Besides, if it turns out we're right, and the phone bill gets to be way too high, I'll just invoice the department. They won't be able to turn me down then."

Steve laughed. "Okay, so, my turn." He ran his finger down the list to find the next number he needed to call. With a tired sigh and a wink, he picked up the handset and dialed.

# # # # #

It was a few minutes before 9 the next morning when Steve raised his hand to knock on the front door but before his knuckles could connect with the wood, the door was yanked open. Mike, fully dressed and ready to go, met his eyes evenly, his expression unreadable.

Before Steve could open his mouth, Mike said quietly, "We've got one."


	26. Chapter 26

"You're kidding," Steve said breathlessly. "Where?"

"Come on in," Mike said quickly and took a step back to allow the younger man to cross the threshold. As Steve moved further into the living room, he closed the door and faced his partner. "Follow me." As they entered the kitchen, Mike pointed towards the map on the wall. One of the small pen circles had been overlaid with a thick red line. "Castaic. It's just north of L.A."

"What have they got?"

Mike picked up a pad, turned it around and tossed it back on the table closer to his partner. "I just got off the phone with a Lieutenant John Montgomery. Eighteen months ago 27-year-old Georgina Carleton was found strangled in her bedroom, with a nylon stocking still around her neck. Her husband was suspected but although his alibi was shaky, they didn't have enough for an arrest. There were no clues at the scene, no witnesses, and the case is still unsolved."

Steve's eyes were scanning Mike's neat but hurried handwriting on the yellow legal pad, nodding slowly. When he finished, he looked up with a sigh. "What do you want to do?"

Mike shrugged. "Well, I think we have to wait till the end of the day at least, maybe even the end of tomorrow, until we think everybody's done their due diligence going through their files, and then we see where we stand. If Castaic remains the only one, then you should go down there and talk to them, but if there's more, well, then we have to figure out what to do – 'cause it's gonna get a lot bigger than the both of us."

They stood in silence for several long seconds, staring at the pad on the table, both well aware of its significance not only for them but for the public at large.

Finally Mike spoke quietly, "You know, to be perfectly honest, Steve, I was kinda hoping we were wrong."

Steve looked at him almost sadly, raising his eyebrows slightly and nodding. "Yeah, me too."

With a heavy sigh, Mike looked at the younger man. "Look, ah, we're not gonna get much done around here today, just waiting for the phone to ring … or not. And I can handle that on my own. Why don't you put in an appearance at the office today? There's a couple of things you can do. You can bring Roy and Rudy up to date, in the most vaguest of terms," he smiled slightly, raising a forefinger, "and you can go back through the state-wide bulletins issued in the past two or three years. See if there's anything you can glean from that… What do you think?"

Still nodded slowly, Steve finally met his partner's steady gaze. "I got a bad feeling about this, Mike."

"So do I, buddy boy, so do I."

# # # # #

Steve was the recipient of some good-natured ribbing when he walked into the bullpen.

"Jeez, you sure you work here anymore?" Inspector Bill Tanner chuckled as the younger man walked past him towards his desk.

"Hey, who's the new kid?" Haseejian's braying laugh sailed across the room. "Somebody check his I.D.!"

With a smirk and dismissive chuckle, Steve pulled out his desk chair and sat, trying not to make eye contact with any of his colleagues. He had just opened the top drawer to take out a pad and pen when Healey approached and sank into the guest chair, glancing around the room with a sneer. "Don't pay them any mind, they're just jealous. But, ah," he dropped his voice and leaned in conspiratorially, "I did hear you've been transferred to Robbery to work with Gallagher again."

Steve froze mid-motion, paling and swallowing heavily, speechless.

Healey met his eyes evenly, then the older detective's face exploded into a grin. "Gotcha!" he roared and stood up, cackling as he walked across the room and out the door.

Sighing in relief and almost gasping for air, Steve shook his head in benign annoyance as he rooted in the top drawer of his desk, finally finding the small spiral bound book he was looking for. He dropped it on the desk and flipped it open, running his finger down a list of phone numbers. He picked up the receiver of the black phone on his desk and was just about to dial when Devitt's "Keller, get in here!" echoed through the bullpen. Startled, he hung up quickly and was at the inner office door in record time, at a loss to understand the captain's obvious ire.

"Yes, sir?"

"Get in here and close the door," Devitt ordered, and as the young inspector did so, he noticed every eye in the place staring at him through the glass walls and door with sudden sympathy.

"Sir?" Steve repeated as he turned away from the door and stepped closer to the desk.

"Sit down," Devitt growled, not looking up from the file in front of him.

Swallowing nervously, Steve slid into one of the guest chairs, patting down his tie, not taking his eyes from the top of the captain's lowered head.

Still looking down, Devitt said, his voice suddenly level and calm, "I just got off the phone with Mike. He said you have something to tell me and to keep it between us, so, ah, sorry about all that, I just wanted to have an excuse to talk to you with the door closed." He chuckled slightly. "So, ah, let's keep pretending I'm chewing you out, okay?"

Trying not to smile, Steve leaned forward and nodded. "Yes, sir." Mike doesn't miss a trick, he thought. It felt so good to have his partner back in his corner again.

Finally looking up from the file, and scowling with impressive ferocity, Devitt asked, "So what is it you have to tell me?"

Choosing his words carefully, Steve replied quietly, "Captain, we may have a mass murderer out there somewhere."

Very slowly Devitt leaned back in the swivel chair, his eyes not leaving the younger man's. "Tell me," he said softly.

And for next twenty minutes, Steve filled his superior officer in on what he and Mike had been doing for the past several days.

# # # # #

Jeannie opened the door to find a subdued Steve Keller standing on the stoop, a file in his hand. She smiled warmly, and he got the impression that, though she was still in the dark about what he and her father were actually doing, the gravity of their pursuit had sunk in.

"The 'base of operations' has moved up to his bedroom," she offered quietly. "I told him I needed the kitchen back." Steve chuckled as he moved deeper into the room and she closed the door behind him. "I'm making spaghetti for dinner – you want some?"

"I'd love some, Jeannie, thanks."

"Tell Mike I'll call you both down when it's ready."

With a nod of thanks, he took the stairs two at a time, then knocked once on the master bedroom door before opening it. The room had been turned into an office. A small table had been procured from somewhere else in the house and was close to the bed, allowing just enough room for the door to open without hitting it.

Mike was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning over the table, which had inherited all the paperwork from its kitchen cousin. Some framed photos on one part of a wall had been removed and replace by the map. Mike looked up over his glasses, but he had a hard time finding a smile.

"We have two more," he said dolefully and he watched the younger man's eyes close and his shoulder sag.

Closing the door and taking a step towards the table, Steve hefted the file folder in his hand. "I went through the old bulletins – there could be a couple more as well." He dropped the folder on the table and slumped heavily into the armchair that had been pulled close. "Where're the new ones?"

Mike sat straighter, took off his glasses and pointed to the map. There were two new red circles now. Besides the ones for Redding, which was upstate, San Francisco and Castaic, which was north of Los Angeles, there was a fourth circle just south of L.A. and a fifth slightly above San Diego. "Tustin and Carlsbad," Mike said with a frustrated sigh.

Steve's eyebrows rose slightly. "Close to L.A. and San Diego. So he's _not_ afraid of going into the bigger cities, is he?" The question was rhetorical; Mike just nodded. "So we may not be the aberration after all, not if he's hit them before now."

They both studied the map for several long beats, then Mike uttered resignedly, "You know what that means, right?"

Steve looked at him and nodded somberly. "Yeah."

Mike tossed his glasses onto the table and rubbed both hands over his tired face. Suddenly worried, Steve asked gently, "You doin' okay?"

Mike looked up, startled. "Hunh? Oh, don't worry about me," he said brightly with a quick shake of his head, "I'm feeling great – physically." He tapped his right middle finger against his temple lightly. "But up here?" He shook his head slowly and sadly. "I just don't like the way this is going, buddy boy. I don't like this at all."

# # # # #

Steve showed up at Mike's a little later the next morning, handing over the two things he had been sent to buy on his way there that morning. Conversation remained at a minimum as they set up shop in the living room for the day, each taking one of the new maps, spreading them out and repeating what they had done a few days before.

It was easier this time to get the Census Bureau employee who they had already used to comply, and then more calls to Directory Assistance. By the time the groundwork had been laid, it was late Friday.

Not expecting any results over the weekend, they had decided to take a day off. Steve used his time to slip down to Carmel with a couple of friends and spend some time on the beach. Mike took Jeannie out to dinner to thank her for everything she had done, above and beyond, during the past two months. But neither man could take their minds off what was slowly coming together within the confines of the De Haro Street house, and the harrowing implications that their findings represented.

# # # # #

"You want another cup of coffee?" Mike asked as he disappeared into the kitchen with his empty cup.

"No thanks, I'm okay for now." Steve was leaning over a map on the coffee table. "I want to hit the road as soon as I can."

Steve's overnight bag was in the back of the Porsche, which was waiting at the curb with a full tank of gas. He stood and picked up the map, folding it open to the section that he needed.

Mike came back in from the kitchen. "So you're ready? You got the names of all the officers you're meeting?"

"Yep. I'll hit Castaic this afternoon, then Tustin early this evening. I'll see how far I get on the way to Carlsbad, but I won't drive if I'm overtired," he finished quickly with a smile.

Mike had been staring at him with an admonishing tilt of his head, but he smiled and nodded approvingly when Steve mentioned pulling over for the night. "Good. Remember that when the adrenaline starts pumping and you think you can drive that extra twenty miles or so."

Still grinning, Steve finished, "Then Carlsbad the next morning and I should be home sometime tomorrow night."

"And I should have heard about our other enquiries by then," Mike said worriedly.

"Yeah." A thought-filled silence lengthened between them. "You know, a huge part of me is hoping you don't," Steve admitted finally.

Mike looked at him soberly then nodded slowly. "Yeah, me too."

# # # # #

Mike stood on the stoop and watched as the Porsche pulled away from the curb and headed up the street. With a resigned shake of his head, he turned unhurriedly and re-entered the house, closing the door almost gently.

He wished with all his might that he was in the passenger seat alongside his young partner, but he was well aware his health wasn't good enough yet for such a strenuous journey. Besides, he had a phone to baby-sit and, as he crossed the living room towards the kitchen, he said a silent prayer that for the next thirty-six hours it wouldn't ring.


	27. Chapter 27

A weary Steve Keller pulled the Porsche into a space up the block from his intended destination. He opened the door slowly and crawled out, then reached back in to snatch his overnight bag from the passenger seat. He had the driver's door halfway closed before he remembered the files on the passenger side floor.

Leaving the bag on the sidewalk, he leaned back into the car, over the stick shift and grabbed the files with a frustrated sigh. He picked up the bag and started down the street, then shook his head with a tiny smile: for once he was walking downhill to Mike's house instead of up. It was a small victory but one he was happy to accept.

The sun was almost down and it was a beautiful sunset but he didn't notice; he had too much on his mind. He took the concrete stairs slowly, his emotions mixed. He was anxious to see his partner again to talk over everything he had discovered, but he was also apprehensive that he was going to be greeted with revelations that he didn't think he was ready to hear.

Stepping up onto the stoop, he was just about to knock when the door opened. Mike greeted him with a grim smile. "I saw you drive up." He stepped back to let Steve enter. "You look beat. Here, let me take that." He reached out and took the overnight bag from the younger man's hand as he passed, and got no resistance. Mike shut the door and followed his partner into the living room, tossing the bag near the sofa. There were two pillows and a sheet and blanket sitting on one end and Steve realized, happily, that he would be staying the night.

"Have you had dinner?" Mike asked.

"Ah, sort of, I grabbed a burger at a roadside stand just north of L.A. a few hours ago."

Mike smiled. "Sit down." He indicated the sofa. "Jeannie's staying overnight at a girlfriend's but she left you a Caesar salad and some lasagna in the fridge. I can heat it up for you - the lasagna, that is. How does that sound?"

Collapsing onto the sofa with a grin, Steve nodded. "That sounds wonderful, thanks."

"I'll get right on it," Mike said with a chuckle as he jogged the few steps into the kitchen.

Steve laid his head back and closed his eyes. It still amazed him how he felt instantly at home in the Stone house, and in his partner's company. A shudder rippled through him as he realized once more how close he had come to losing it all so recently. He could hear Mike opening and closing doors and drawers in the kitchen, and he smiled.

A couple of minutes later, Mike poked his head back into the living room. "The lasagna should be hot enough in about a half-hour. Do you want the salad now or do you want to wait?"

Steve opened his eyes, sat up and stretched. "I can wait. You got a beer?"

"Coming up!" Mike disappeared again then exited the kitchen with a beer in each hand. He handed one to his partner then sat carefully in the armchair, wincing slightly.

After taking a sip, Steve gestured with the bottle towards the older man. "Your side bothering you?"

Grimacing at being caught out, Mike smiled reassuringly. "Just a twinge. I guess I've been doing too much too soon. For god's sake, don't tell Jeannie," he chuckled. He took a sip of his own beer then looked into his partner's eyes. "So, what have you got?" There was a despondent inevitability in his voice.

Steve picked up the file that was sitting on the seat beside him. "They're all possible, Mike, everyone of them. I have copies of all the reports, Polaroids from the scenes, and I talked to the three lead investigators." He sighed heavily. "I'd bet a years pay it's the same guy."

Mike dropped his head and said nothing. Steve watched as he took several slow deep breaths. Then he heard a soft, almost inaudible, "Goddamnit."

"Do you want to see it?" Steve asked, holding up the file.

Mike shook his head. "Not tonight. I'll go through it tomorrow. I've had enough for today."

Steve froze and studied the older man. Mike avoided the stare at first then slowly met the concerned green eyes. "What?" Steve asked. "Did you get a call?"

Mike looked at him, expressionless, then he dropped his eyes, took a deep breath and looked back up. "Not one. Two."

Steve let his head fall back onto the sofa and closed his eyes, mouthing an expletive. "Where?"

"No!" Mike said sharply and Steve's head came up quickly, staring at him. "Not tonight. We've both done more than enough the past couple of days and we need a break, buddy boy. So no more – as of this second, we don't say one more word about this to each other. All right?"

Steve's troubled stare turned gradually into a wry appreciative smile. He nodded slowly. "You got it."

Mike grinned. "So, what did you see in your travels? Anything interesting?"

Chuckling, Steve undid his already loosened tie and pulled it off, slipped off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He picked up his beer and took another sip, then leaned back again, relaxing.

It was close to midnight before Mike climbed the stairs to his room; they had spent the evening enjoying each other's company, talking about a wide range of topics, everything except what was foremost in both their minds.

# # # # #

Mike was already dressed and sitting at the kitchen table, poring over the new set of reports and photos, when a still groggy Steve ambled through the doorway and crossed to the percolator. "Good morning, buddy boy," he mumbled without looking up, "how did you sleep?"

Taking a mug from the cupboard and beginning to pour, Steve yawned. "Like a -." He stopped mid-sentence and froze. "Why in the world do we say 'like a log'? Do logs sleep? I mean, seriously, wouldn't, oh I don't know, 'a hibernating bear' make more sense?"

Mike glanced up over his glasses and grimaced slightly. "Oh oh," he said sotto voce, "it's gonna be one of _those_ days, is it?"

"One of _what_ days?" Steve asked accusingly.

Looking up with a warm smile, Mike chuckled. "One of those days when you question _everything_."

Steve frowned as he leaned against the counter, stirring his coffee. "I do?"

Mike nodded, looking back down at a report. "Yeah, you do."

Shrugging to himself, Steve stepped to the table and dropped into the second chair. "So what do you think?"

Mike glanced up. "I think you're right. They certainly fit our meager profile, don't they?" He sat back, took off his glasses and pushed the file away slightly.

Steve nodded, cradling the mug in his lap with both hands. After a couple of seconds of reflective silence, he looked into Mike's somber eyes. "So, ah, so what did _you_ find out yesterday?"

Meeting Steve's eyes evenly, he reached down and picked up a folded map that was sitting on the floor at his feet. Without a word, he opened the map to a specific section and laid it on the table, facing his partner. Steve, who had been meeting the intense stare neutrally, glanced down at the map. There were two red circles. His eyes shot back up to meet Mike's again briefly then he leaned forward for a closer look. The names Roseberg and Salem were inside the circles. He reached up and unfolded the top of the map: Oregon.

With a heavy sigh, he dropped the map and leaned back in the chair. Mike had been staring at him throughout and now his eyes met his young partner's regretfully. "You know what this means, right?"

Steve nodded slowly. "Yeah, I sure do."

# # # # #

Mike opened the front door as Steve struggled onto the stoop with his heavy load. He stepped back to allow the younger man into the house and shut the door behind him as Steve, panting heavily, crossed to the coffee table and set his burden down with a thud. "These things are heavier than they look," he wheezed, gasping for air.

Mike circled the table, eyeing the IBM Selectric. "I've seen these things but haven't used one yet. They look fancy." He eyed the younger man, who was still trying to catch his breath. "So, did you bring any paper for it?"

Glaring at him, Steve gasped, "There's a bag in the car – paper, extra ribbons and 'cover-up tape', and even another ball in case you want to change the font."

"Why would I want to change the font?"

Steve shrugged. "I don't know. To make it look fancier?"

Mike's eyes narrowed, and the younger man chuckled. He turned towards the door. "I'll be right back."

As Steve disappeared out the door again, Mike sat on the sofa in front of the typewriter and checked it out. By the time Steve reappeared with the bag of supplies, he had dug out an extension cord, brought all the files in from the kitchen and down from his bedroom and had begun to lay them out in neat separate stacks.

"All right, get yourself a cup of coffee and let's get to work," the older man said as he glanced around the room. "The sooner we get started, the sooner we'll get finished."

When Steve nodded in reluctant agreement, he continued quickly, "But like I said before, we're gonna give ourselves until the end of the week, finish organizing our findings on the weekend, and then we'll talk to Rudy and the Chief on Monday morning and go from there. Is that a plan?"

Nodding slowly, Steve sighed heavily.

With a melancholy grin, Mike clapped his hands. "Well, let's get at it."

# # # # #

By the weekend, having shared the typing, they had compiled a comprehensive dossier on every case they had uncovered, from Carlsbad in the south to Salem in the north, all of them along the I-5. Satisfied that they had done all that they could for the moment, Mike had decided they needed a very welcome 'day off', and he had acquired tickets for Jeannie, Steve and himself for the Sunday afternoon ballgame at the 'Stick against the detested Dodgers, to be followed by barbequed steaks on the outdoor grill in his backyard.

Jeannie was in the kitchen, whipping up a salad, while Mike, in an apron and toque blanche, a gag gift she had given him years ago that he had embraced with bravado, stood over the barbeque. Steve, sitting on top of the picnic table, was sipping a beer and offering tips to the chef, who was watching over the steaks and baked potatoes like a worried parent.

She stuck her head out the back door. "Mike, phone call!"

Eyebrows rising in surprise, Mike handed the tongs to his young companion. "Here. Don't just sit there, you need to take over." As he disappeared through the backdoor, he called over his shoulder, "And I don't want them burnt when I get back!"

Jeannie came out almost immediately, a large salad bowl in her hands. "He means that, you know – if you burn them you'll never hear the end of it, believe me."

Steve chuckled, almost afraid to take his eyes off the three thick steaks sizzling on the grill. "He barbeques like he does everything else, doesn't he? With ferocious intensity."

Jeannie laughed, shaking her head, as she started lay out the plates and cutlery that had been stacked on the table. "You have no idea. He used to drive my mother nuts." She glanced over her shoulder towards the kitchen. "He's mellowed somewhat, if you can believe it."

"This is mellow?" Steve asked with barely concealed incredulity. And she couldn't stop giggling at his ensuing laughter.

The backdoor opened and Mike stepped out onto the patio. The two young people, still chuckling, glanced towards him and froze, their smiles quickly disappearing. Mike looked troubled.

"Daddy, what is it?" Jeannie asked breathlessly, suddenly and inexplicably worried.

Mike's hooded eyes slid towards his partner. "We've got another one," he said quietly.

Closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, Steve asked softly. "Where?"

"Washington State."


	28. Chapter 28

The steak dinner turned out to be a much more subdued affair than they'd hoped, and though Jeannie wasn't completely aware of what was going on, she knew that the phone call had not been a welcome one.

Both men had become unnaturally quiet, and she finally worked up enough courage to ask what was going on. Mike looked from his partner to his daughter, took a deep breath and seemed to make up his mind. "Well, it really doesn't matter anymore, it's gonna be out of our hands soon anyway."

Steve nodded grimly, looking down with a snort and a mirthless smile.

Looking at his daughter with affection, Mike began to tell her about the work he and Steve had been doing the past week, informing her of the significance of the circles on the maps, Steve's road trips and the mounds of file folders that had graced the tables around the house for days. Her brow furrowed more and more as her father filled her in on the importance of their findings, of the horrible revelation that there might be a mass murderer stalking the I-5 corridor and that, whoever he was, he had been hunting and killing for at least three years. And there was the possibility of more murders out there that had yet to be uncovered.

"And nobody had any idea this has been going on?" she asked incredulously, looking from her father to Steve.

The younger man shook his head. "Nope. He's been doing it in different cities, different states, each one months apart, and he's been so careful that in almost every case, the husband was the first and only suspect." He paused. "Whoever he is, he's good."

"But, I don't understand, why didn't anybody make a connection before. I mean, if you –"

"Because jurisdictions, and even different departments, rarely talk to each other, and no one was looking for a pattern," her father interrupted gently. "Steve was the first one to figure it out." The pride in his voice was unmistakable, and Jeannie turned wide eyes towards his partner.

"You?" she said, awed.

"No no no," Steve began quickly, shaking his head vigorously, "it wasn't –"

"Don't be modest," Mike stopped him with a grin. When Steve froze, staring at him, then shut his mouth, Mike turned to his daughter. "The case here in town, the husband was arrested for it, and he's in jail awaiting trial. But Steve, well, he didn't think the husband did it. He listened to his gut and his gut was telling him that the husband was innocent."

"Well, if he didn't do it, why is he in jail?"

"Because the man who replaced your Dad –"

"Gallagher," Jeannie interjected indignantly.

With a quick glance at Mike, Steve nodded and cleared his throat. "Yeah, Gallagher, well, he thought the husband did it and, at face value, it sure looked that way."

"But you didn't think so?"

Once more a glance between the partners. Then a hesitant, "No."

Mike's look to Steve was filled with respect and warmth. "Steve doesn't think so, and I don't think so either. The murder here is too much like all the others we've uncovered. So much so that it almost fits a pattern. A pattern that still has to be proven."

"So what are you going to do?"

Mike glanced at Steve again, eyes wide, and took a loud deep breath before he turned once more to his daughter. "Well, that's where we run into trouble."

"What do you mean?"

"Jeannie," Steve took over, speaking quietly, "if all the murders we've been looking into had happened in California, your Dad and I would be heading up the investigation, no doubt about it. But in the past couple of days we've found similar murders in Oregon and Washington."

Jeannie shrugged. "So?"

"So," Steve continued slowly, "anytime crimes are committed that cross state lines, they become the jurisdiction of the FBI."

He stopped talking and stared at her. Her blue eyes widened and she looked from him to her father and back. "You mean you and Daddy have to give your case to the FBI?" She was every inch a policeman's daughter and she know only too well how involved detectives could become with their investigations, the hours they put in and the toll they sometimes took, physically, mentally, and emotionally.

When Steve nodded, she looked to Mike, who did the same.

"But….that's not fair! It's _your_ case!"

"Well," said Mike with a sigh of inevitability, "it would have been if it had stayed in California. But we don't have a choice now, Jeannie. It's out of our hands."

She sat back, breathing heavily and angrily, having a hard time believing that all their hard work was going to go unrewarded. "It's not fair…" she repeated, quieter this time.

"How many times have I told you life's not fair?" Mike said with a humorous warmth.

She shot him an annoyed look. "You know what I mean."

"Sweetheart, we realized a couple of days ago that we were gonna lose it. We've accepted it now." He shrugged and chuckled dryly. "It still stings, no doubt about that, but I've had to do it before. This, unfortunately, is _his_ first time." He nodded at Steve, who smiled noncommittally, shrugging as well.

Jeannie let this information sink in and an almost uncomfortable silence filled the room. She finally looked at her father again. "So, what's going to happen to the husband that didn't do it?"

"Well, Steve and I have a meeting tomorrow morning with Rudy and the Chief of Detectives and we're going to tell them what we've found. It'll be up to them to contact the FBI but in the meantime, Steve and I are going to talk to Gerry O'Brien – he's one of the assistant district attorneys – and see if we have enough to get the husband at least out on bail, if we can't get the charges dropped altogether. That may take some time. But I think we can do it, don't you?" Mike directed his question to his partner.

Their eyes met and locked then with a sly, almost relieved smile, Steve nodded.

Jeannie looked from one to the other, watching their interaction, then she stood and started to pick up the dirty plates. "I still don't think it's fair," she mumbled.

Mike cleared his throat with a brief laugh. "How about dessert?"

Jeannie stopped in her tracks and shot him a look. "I have an apple pie in the oven. I'll bring it out." She turned sharply on her heel and, with arms full of dirty dishes, disappeared into the kitchen.

"Don't forget the ice cream!" Mike called to her retreating back, then turned to Steve with widened eyes and a grimace. "Yikes, I'm glad she's on our side."

# # # # #

Mike pulled his blue sedan into a spot in the Hall of Justice parking lot. The two detectives opened both back doors to remove the stacks of file folders and, with arms laden, crossed the lot and entered the building.

As they turned into the lobby from the small side corridor, Steve glanced over at the older man, swallowing a smile. Lieutenant Mike Stone was back, decked out in his dark blue suit, maroon vest, striped tie and fedora, and his partner couldn't be happier.

They stepped into the elevator and rode to the top floor. The meeting was going to take place in Captain Olsen's office; discretion was still the watchword. Steve shifted his load slightly, managing to free his right hand enough so he could knock.

"Come in!" Olsen's voice bellowed and Steve lowered himself slightly to grab the knob and open the door.

Both Olsen and Chief of Detectives John Condon looked up in alarm as the two homicide detectives entered the room with their burden. "Holy cow," Olsen blurted, quickly moving several items on his desk, "here, put all that down here."

With a grateful smile, Mike dropped his stack of files. "Thanks, Rudy." He took a step back and allowed Steve to do the same. Mike turned to Condon and held out his hand. "Chief, it's been awhile."

Condon, who shifted his gaze from the stacks of files to his lieutenant, shook Mike's hand enthusiastically. "It's very good to see you, Mike. I hear you've had it rough for the past few weeks."

"Yes, sir," Mike acknowledged with a quick bobble of his head, "but I'm okay now and coming back to work."

Olsen, who had stood, added, "He just needs to pass his physical and re-qualify, but all that's been arranged, right, Mike?" He looked at his old friend with relief and smiled fondly, his concern very real.

"Right," Mike said brightly, with a wink, reaching out to shake Olsen's hand as well.

"You must be Steve Keller," Condon said, turning to the youngest person in the room, holding out his hand. "I have heard quite a bit about you, young fella, and all of it good." He pumped Steve's hand.

"Thank you, sir."

As Olsen shook Steve's hand as well, Condon took a step back and gestured towards the files on the desk. "So, ah, Rudy here tells me you guys may have uncovered something that could have statewide implications. I'm intrigued. What have you got?" He raised his eyebrows in anticipation as he sat in a leather armchair that had been pulled next to Olsen's desk.

As the captain sat back down as well, Mike glanced briefly at Steve, took off his fedora and dropped it on the nearby credenza, and faced his superiors. "Gentlemen, if we're right, and I think we are, chances are there's a mass murderer out there, and he's been 'plying his trade', so to speak, for the past three years, up and down the entire west coast."

# # # # #

The office door opened and Chief of Detectives John Condon, his brow furrowed in worry, stepped out into the corridor and disappeared down the hall. In Captain Olsen's office, Mike was leaning against the desk, his arms crossed, Steve stood near the door, his head down and his hands on his hips, and Olsen remained seated behind his desk.

Olsen looked from one partner to the other, well aware of the frustration that was emanating from both men. "Look, fellas, ah, you know if I could do something, I would. But my hands are just as tied as yours are," he offered weakly.

Mike looked at him with a forgiving smile. "Don't beat yourself up, Rudy, Steve and I've known for days that we were gonna lose this. It just hurts, you know, like dropping a pop fly."

Steve chuckled at the analogy, still examining the carpet.

"Look, ah, for what it's worth, I can ask the FBI if they want you guys to give them a hand, you know?" Olsen suggested encouragingly.

Mike shook his head. "Not me. I'd rather just walk away from it altogether than to be just, you know, a consultant, but maybe Steve …"

Both older men turned to the young inspector. He looked up slowly, meeting both pairs of eyes, then shrugged. "I don't know," he said vaguely, and while Olsen nodded, Mike's brow furrowed in concern. It had never occurred to him that Steve would consider being seconded to the FBI to continue the investigation. He could understand the younger man's desire to be a part of what could potentially be the most important case of his career. But in doing so, he could be away from the department for months, if not years. Their partnership would essentially be over.

As if perceiving Mike's concern, Steve looked at him and smiled enigmatically.

Sensing a sudden, inexplicable tension, Captain Olsen's eyes slid from one partner to the other. "Um, anything else I can do you for two?" he asked hesitantly.

Not taking his eyes from Mike, Steve began, "Ah, yes, Captain, we'd like to speak to Gerry O'Brien about getting Roger Anderson out on bail. Right, Mike?"

Hearing his name, the lieutenant seemed to shake himself out of his reverie. "Ah, yeah, ah, Rudy, we think we have enough here," he indicated the folders on the desk, "to at least get the DA's office to take a second look at him. What do you think?"

Olsen nodded grimly. "I think you're right." He looked at Steve. "It was Gallagher who arrested him, wasn't it?"

"Yes, sir." Steve's tone remained neutral, and he held the captain's stare evenly.

"Tell Gerry you have my blessing," Olsen chuckled.

Laughing quietly, Mike pushed himself away from the desk and stepped to the credenza to pick up his hat.

"Thanks, Captain," Steve said, reaching for the knob and opening the door.

"We'll leave those with you," Mike indicated the files with his hat. "And welcome to them." With a heavy sigh, he put on his fedora as he crossed in front of his partner and left the room.

They started down the corridor, Steve a step ahead. He glanced at his watch then turned his head slightly. "Hey, it's still pretty early. Why don't we head over to the range and you can get off a few rounds, shake off some of that rust before you have to re-qualify. What do you think?"

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Mike nodded. "Sounds like a good idea."

As he followed the younger man down the hall, he kept his eyes down. Maybe everything that had happened between them in the last few weeks wasn't completely in the past; maybe a few of the ghosts had yet to be expelled.


	29. Chapter 29

"Steve not with you tonight?" Jeannie asked from the kitchen entranceway as Mike closed the front door, tossing his keys on the table. His tie was loose and his hat slightly askew; he was exhausted.

"Ah, no," he said quietly as he took off the fedora and put it on the shelf in the closet. "No, he went home tonight. It was a long day."

She crossed to him slowly, putting a gentle hand on his arm. "You look tired."

He shook his head slightly but he knew she was right and gave up trying to fool her.

He crossed to the armchair and sat heavily, pulling his tie off then leaning back and closing his eyes. "We went to the firing range so I could get in a little practice. In hindsight, probably not my best decision recently," he said with a low chuckle.

She sat on the arm of the chair. "Why not? Were you awful?" she asked with a gentle laugh.

He opened his eyes and glared at her and she smiled. "Thanks for the support," he growled sarcastically. "To be perfectly modest," he chuckled, "I was terrific. Like I was never away."

She slapped his arm lightly and affectionately. "Good for you."

He yawned. "Just turned out to be a long and tiring day, that's all. I probably should have come home after the meeting but Steve suggested the range…" He let the sentence hang.

He had closed his eyes again and she sat quietly, watching him. She had a funny feeling that something was amiss. She tightened her hand on his arm and he opened his eyes. "Is everything all right between you and Steve?" she asked gently.

He stared at her for a couple of seconds then, with a small reassuring smile, said, "We're fine." But the hesitation before he spoke told her more than his words ever could.

# # # # #

Steve had been sitting on his couch since Mike had dropped him off a couple of hours earlier. He hadn't even taken off his jacket or tie. The sun was starting to go down before he got up and walked to the kitchen, snapping on the overhead. He opened the fridge and sighed. He had been eating at the Stone house so often lately there was nothing here, not even leftovers.

Grabbing a beer, he rooted around in the cutlery drawer for the opener, then meandered back into the living room and dropped once more onto the couch.

The day had turned out to be a lot harder than he had anticipated when it started. He'd arrived at Bryant Street with his partner well aware that the meeting they were going into could only end one way – that the fruits of their labours would be turned over to someone else and they would walk away.

But suddenly an offer was being dangled in front of him: the possibility of working with the FBI on what surely would become a large and well-funded task force, with the potential to be the seminal event of his burgeoning career. It wasn't a stretch to believe that this case could _make_ his career.

Yawning, he leaned forward and rubbed a hand over his eyes. There was a good chance he would need to make a potentially life-changing decision in the next few days, and he also knew that one particular choice would change more than just his own life. With a tired sigh, he searched under the coffee table for the stack of take-out brochures that had accumulated. Finding the one he wanted, he tucked the receiver under this chin and dialed the number for his favourite pizza joint.

# # # # #

"Gerry!" Mike bellowed as he opened the A.D.A.'s office door and charged into the room. Watching the lawyer jump slightly then look up in alarm, Mike cackled evilly as a grinning Steve followed him into the room.

With a long-suffering sigh and resigned smile, O'Brien tossed his pen on the desk and sat back. "Good morning, Mike, Steve." He nodded to them both. "So what can I do for you gentlemen this morning?"

With a broad smile, Mike dropped into one of the guest chairs and crossed his legs. Steve, a large file folder in one hand, sat a little more sedately but his smile was just as wide.

"Well, I think it's more what we can do for each other," the lieutenant said enigmatically.

With a curious frown, O'Brien looked from one homicide detective to the other. "All right, I'll bite. What can you do for me? And what can I do for you?"

Mike turned to his partner and gestured toward the ADA. Steve leaned forward and put the file on the desk. "We can give you this. And you can release Roger Anderson."

O'Brien's frown deepened. "Ah, and why would I do that?" His eyes snapped quickly from one to the other.

Steve smiled like a mongoose eyeing a cobra. "Because he didn't do it."

"And what makes you think that?" The ADA sounded very confused.

Steve opened the file and began removing papers. Mike shifted in the chair. "Gerry, how busy are you right now? Can you give us, say, a half hour?"

"I, ah, I don't have to be in court till this afternoon." Glancing briefly at the papers Steve was laying out on his desk, he pushed a button on his telephone.

"Yes?" said a pleasant female voice.

"Karen, hold my calls for the next half hour, would ya, please?"

"Yes, sir."

He pushed the button again then sat back. "What are you guys up to?" he asked suspiciously.

Both detectives just smiled at him.

# # # # #

"So what did Gerry say?"

They were back in Captain Olsen's office, Mike in the guest chair and Steve leaning against the closed door, arms folded.

"Well, he said he's going to go over everything we gave him with a fine-toothed comb but, at first glance, he said he thinks we've given him enough to have the charges against Anderson dropped. But it's gonna take a few days." Mike shrugged but there was a contagious optimism in his attitude.

"Well, that's good news, at least." Olsen looked up at Steve. "You want me to tell Gallagher or do you want the privilege?"

Steve smiled and chuckled. "Captain, if it's okay with you, I'd like to wait till Anderson gets his walking papers, when it's official."

Olsen grinned. "You got it." He reached across his desk and pulled a piece of paper closer. "So, ah, just so you guys know, Condon got in touch with the FBI yesterday afternoon and, of course, they are very interested. Two agents from their field office here," he glanced at the paper, "Special Agents Flores and Martin, are meeting with Condon right now, going over the files." He looked up at Steve once again. "That's all I know at the moment, but I'm sure they'll be getting in touch with you soon. Are you two sticking around the office today?"

Mike glanced up at his partner, who met his eyes briefly, then he turned back to Olsen. "Sure. I haven't had a chance to talk to Roy about what's going on and I'll need to get up to speed before I come back."

Olsen smiled and nodded. "Good, good. It'll be great to have you _both_ back." He hesitated as they both smiled perfunctorily, and the nagging suspicion that all was not quite right between the partners ran through his mind again.

# # # # #

"Mike! Great to see you!" Dan Healey was the first to spot the lieutenant as he came through the small anteroom into the Homicide office.

Taking off his hat, Mike grinned as he moved deeper into the room, suddenly surrounded by the sergeant and the rest of his squad, everyone wanting to shake his hand. A chuckling Steve made his way past the small scrum to his desk, glancing up to see a grinning Devitt in the doorway of the inner office, arms crossed and leaning against the doorframe.

Steve met Devitt's eyes and raised his eyebrows. "He'll be a minute," he said with a nod to the mini-mob and Devitt nodded with a laugh.

The welcoming committee having disbursed, Mike, shaking his head and laughing, finally crossed the few yards to his office door. "Roy, what are you doing in my office?" he greeted his colleague with a laugh, holding out his right hand.

"Good to see you, Mike," Devitt grinned, pumping Mike's hand, "you're looking good."

"And I'm feeling good too, thanks." Mike dropped his hat onto the coatrack. "I should be back in a few days – just gotta take the physical and re-qualify – piece a cake!"

Devitt had crossed behind the desk and was just about to sit when he suddenly turned back to Mike. "Hey, do you…?" He pointed at the chair.

Mike put both hands up and laughed. "No no no, that chair is yours until I get back officially." He sat in the guest chair, leaned back and crossed his legs.

"So what can I do for you?"

"Well, I've been pretty out of the loop for the past couple of months, and I'd like to hit the ground running when I get back. And I was hoping you and I could go over some of the open cases, you know, so I can –"

"Say no more," Devitt interrupted with a laugh, leaning forward. "You got some time now?"

"That's why I'm here."

"Sounds good to me. Grab yourself a coffee and I'll start getting some reports for you."

Smiling, Mike got up and took off his jacket. As he turned to put it on the coatrack, his eyes fell on Steve, busy at his desk, and a sad, worried expression washed briefly over his features.

# # # # #

Steve exited the elevator and strode down the darkened corridor to the Homicide office. The sun had already set and the building was quiet. Stretching his neck from side to side in an effort to ameliorate his fatigue, he stepped into the almost pitch black bullpen and started towards his desk. A light in the small inner office caught his attention and he stopped abruptly.

Slowly and quietly he crossed the tile floor to the open glass door and leaned against the frame. "What in the world are you still doing here?" he said softly.

Mike jumped and looked up quickly, frowning over his glasses, one hand over his heart. "Jeez, you could warn me, you know." He chuckled self-consciously. "I guess I was a little pre-occupied."

"You think?" Steve said warmly as he pushed himself away from the door and took a step deeper into the room. "I thought you'd've gone home hours ago."

"I, ah, I sorta got caught up in all this reading." Mike indicated the stacks of files on the desk. He took off his glasses and sat back. "So how did the meeting go?"

Steve sat in the guest chair. "Well, they wanted me to go over our files for them, just like you thought. They're gonna be setting up a task force, of course – in Sacramento, where they have a field office. They want it about half-way up and down the coast, you know."

Mike nodded.

"They figure they'll invite an officer from each of the cities and towns involved to join, so they have someone _local_. They have a field office here of course, and are gonna use one of the agents from here, but…" Steve stopped and looked down.

Mike waited.

"They've asked me to go up to Sacramento and go over our files with everyone." Steve was looking down.

After a couple of seconds, Mike asked quietly, "For how long?"

Steve shrugged, still staring at the floor. "I'm, ah, I'm not sure. They've asked me to join the task force." He could hear Mike swallow heavily and clear his throat.

The uncomfortable silence lengthened until Mike said, "Smart move on their part. Nobody knows more about these cases right now than you do."

Steve nodded, glancing up briefly to meet his partner's stare. The older man's warm smile didn't reach his eyes.

"So, ah, so when do you have to leave?"

Steve sat back, trying not to fidget. "Well, ah, Martin and Flores are driving up tomorrow morning… they've asked me to go with them."

"Wow," Mike said with a dry chuckle, "they don't waste any time, do they?"

Steve shrugged with a small smile. "No, they don't." He gestured with his head towards the outer office. "Look, ah, I have to get out of here. Gotta pack and all that." He got up and crossed to the door. "You want me to drop you off?"

Mike, who had lowered his gaze to the desk, looked up and smiled. "Oh, no thanks, I've still got some reports I want to finish reading. I'll grab a cab."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, don't worry about me. You get yourself squared away."

"Okay," Steve said with a warm smile as he started towards his desk.

"But hey," Mike's voice stopped him, "you should give Roy a call – bet he knows some good Sacramento restaurants."

Chuckling, trying not to let his unraveling emotions bubble to the surface, Steve cleared off the top of his desk. He looked back into the inner office; Mike was staring at him through the glass wall. They silently held each other's gaze, then Steve raised his chin and nodded quickly with a sad smile. Mike smiled back, then watched as the younger man turned and walked away.


	30. Chapter 30

"So?" Jeannie's voice assailed him as he opened the door.

Startled, Mike took a quick step back out onto the stoop. "Jeez, could you wait till I get in the house?" he whined good naturedly, shaking his head and chuckling as he closed the door, tossed his keys on the table and took off his hat.

She was standing halfway between the kitchen and the door, her arms folded. "Well?"

Her father took a step deeper into the room then stopped, raising his head slightly and sniffing the air. "Is that pot roast I'm smelling? You haven't cooked a pot roast in –"

"Quit stalling," she interrupted, tapping her foot and staring at him with no a trace of a smile.

Deliberately, knowing how much it would irritate her, he turned to the closet and dropped his hat onto the shelf. Swiveling back slowly, he pulled his tie loose and undid his collar button. She continued to stare at him the entire time, barely blinking. He finally paused momentarily and looked at her. Then, continuing towards the sofa, he said quietly, "Flying colours."

She relaxed, uncrossing her arms and slapping her palms together in front of her mouth. "Really?" The anticipatory joy in her voice was unmistakable.

He stopped at the sofa and grinned at her before he dropped down onto it heavily and put his feet on the coffee table. "I'm in perfect health," he said smugly, "and the doc said if it wasn't for the scars, he wouldn't even know I had a metal plate in me. And, when I re-qualify tomorrow, I'll be back at work."

"Oh, Daddy," she gushed, dropping down on the sofa beside him to give him a hug, "I'm so happy for you. I know it seems like it's been forever."

"You can say that again," he snorted with a chuckle. "So, it that the reason for the pot roast?"

"You mean to celebrate? You betcha."

"Hunh. So, what would you have said if I hadn't passed the physical?"

She thought about it for a split second then grinned. "A consolation prize?" As she got up and started towards the kitchen, he reached out and slapped her on the bum.

# # # # #

Steve opened the motel room door and turned on the light. He crossed slowly to the far bed and sat on the edge, shrugging out of his jacket and pulling off his tie. He kicked off his shoes and laid back on the twin bed, closing his eyes.

It had been another very long day, and the bad coffee and diner food hadn't helped. For over twelve hours he and a handful of others, the nascent task force starting to take shape, had begun the arduous task of developing a plan of attack. With seven possibly linked cases already uncovered, and with more sure to come in everyone's opinion, no detail, no matter how trivial, could afford to be overlooked. It was the tentative beginnings of what they all knew would become a Herculean task.

He glanced over at the other bed. Due to budget constraints, he would be sharing the room with a sergeant from the Salem, Oregon police department, Derek Colby. Colby, who had arrived mid-afternoon, was still at the task force headquarters, trying to get up to speed.

Steve sighed and stared at the ceiling. He was too numb and too tired to think of anything except trying to get some sleep. He closed his eyes with an annoyed grimace – he'd forgotten to pick up some earplugs, but realized he was probably too tired to be woken by anything short of an earthquake tonight.

# # # # #

Captain Rudy Olsen crossed the busy Homicide bullpen floor and poked his head into the inner office. "Great to see you back, Mike," he said warmly as he stepped into the small room and seated himself in one of the guest chairs.

Mike looked up with a smile, taking off his glasses. "Thanks, Rudy. It's great to _be_ back."

"Hey, ah, I hear you put the younger guys to shame when you re-qualified," the captain chuckled.

Mike grimaced and shook his head. "I passed, alright, let's leave it at that." He tossed his glasses onto the desk. "Anything I can do for you?" he asked pointedly, but with a warm smile.

"No, no, just checking in." Olsen cleared his throat nervously, looking away briefly. "So, ah, have you heard from Steve?"

Mike swallowed, his smile disappearing for a split second before he answered quietly. "No, ah, I guess he's been pretty busy, getting everything set up and all that."

"Yeah, yeah, it must be a hell of a thing to get something like that up and running." There was an awkward silence. "Oh, ah, you heard from Gerry about that Anderson thing?"

"Yeah. Sorry, I should have let you know. Gerry's been talking to Judge Ambrose and he's agreed to hear the petition. There's going to be a hearing next week sometime and Gerry's pretty sure Anderson'll walk."

"Good, good." Olsen was nodding thoughtfully.

"Listen, ah, Rudy, could you do me a favour? It would mean a lot."

Olsen leaned forward, his brow furrowing. "Sure, sure, what do you need?"

Mike got up and crossed to the door, closing it and then sitting on the edge of the desk close to his captain.

# # # # #

"You're late," Jeannie said with concern in her voice as he father stepped into the living room and shut the front door quickly behind him. He took off the dark blue topcoat and shook it out, the rainwater spraying around the room, much to her consternation. He hung it over the banister post.

"Yeah, I, uh, I got caught up in a couple of meetings and lost track of time. And the rain didn't help – a lot of people seem to forget how to drive in the rain," he grumbled as he took off the soggy fedora and tried to find a place to put it.

She crossed to him and took the wet hat out of his hand. "I'll put it in the kitchen, it'll dry faster there."

He winked at her. "Good thinking." He started up the stairs to his bedroom. "I'm gonna get changed."

"Why didn't Steve come home with you?" she asked towards his retreating back, and he stopped midway up the steps. "He hasn't been around for dinner in ages."

He hesitated briefly before he glanced back towards her. "No, he hasn't," he agreed with a slight smile then continued up the stairs.

"Mike," she said sharply and he stopped. "Where is he?"

He turned slowly on the steps and looked straight into her eyes. "What do you mean?" he asked innocently and she stared at him harder. He took a short heavy sigh and seemed to sag before her eyes. "He's up in Sacramento working with the FBI on the task force."

Now it was her turn to sag and, as the implications of what her father had just said sank in, her stubborn look melted into heartsick concern. "Oh Daddy," she exhaled sadly, watching his face closely. "He's coming back, isn't he?"

Mike raised his eyebrows, cleared his throat and smiled wryly. With a quick twist of his head, he said noncommittally, "I, uh, I'm not sure." He gestured with his chin towards the kitchen. "Is dinner ready?"

She stared at him silently but when he didn't say anything else, she managed a small smile. "Whenever you want it."

His smile got wider. "I'll just get changed and be right back down." He turned and continued up the stairs, taking them two at a time. She watched as he disappeared into his bedroom then moved slowly towards the kitchen, her heart suddenly breaking for him.

# # # # #

"Keller!"

The baritone bellow cut through the cacophony in the large warehouse turned command centre, and Steve looked up, trying to locate the source.

"You're wanted on the phone – Line 3!"

Still unable to see who was yelling at him, he picked up the receiver of the black phone on his desk and punched the flashing button. Putting his right index finger in his other ear, he said loudly, "Inspector Keller, how may I help you?"

"Steve," an easily recognizable voice boomed through the headset, "is that you?"

His face warming at the familiar roar, he shouted back, "Captain, good to hear from you!"

"So, how are things up there in Sacramento? You guys solved it yet?"

Steve could hear the laughter behind the words and could picture Olsen behind his desk. "Ah, not quite. Give us a couple of more days though," he shot back.

"Okay, I will. Say, listen, I just wanted you to know I heard from Gerry O'Brien and there's going to be a hearing for Roger Anderson in Judge Ambrose's courtroom on Thursday. And you said you wanted to be there…"

"Yeah, ah, yeah, I do. Thanks, Captain, I'll see if they'll let me go. I'm pretty sure they will. Thanks."

"Not a problem. I knew you wanted to be there when Anderson walks."

"Yeah, I sure do. Hey, um, is, ah, is Mike back to work yet?" He tried to sound casual and unconcerned but the captain could hear the anxiety in his voice even over the still cacophonous background noise.

"Yeah, didn't he tell you? He re-qualified last Thursday and he's been back in the office since Friday. He's deskbound for another week but he's back in charge, so all's right with the world again, at least in Homicide," Olsen finished with a chuckle.

"That's, ah, that's great," Steve said, trying valiantly to keep the melancholy out of his voice. He glanced around the room, blinking quickly to expel the moisture in his eyes. "Listen, ah, I gotta go, things are really busy up here, but I'll make sure to drop in and see you when I get back down there on Thursday, okay?"

"Yeah, sure, okay, well, I'll see you on Thursday." Olsen's tone was suddenly tentative and wary. "Don't work too hard now," he finished with attempted levity.

"I won't," Steve rose to the bait, grateful for the captain's willful ignorance. He hung up the receiver, sitting there for several long seconds with his hand still on the phone. He looked around the room, at the ordered chaos swirling around him, the sense of importance and urgency that permeated every corner of the large space that each day, each hour, seemed to expand and contract simultaneously. It was both overwhelming and intoxicating.

# # # # #

Sergeant Dan Healey was the last to leave and, as he took one final look towards the inner office, turned slowly on his heel and snapped off the fluorescent overheads before exiting into the corridor.

In the light from the banker's lamp on his desk, Mike, in his shirtsleeves and reading glasses, glanced up at the now empty bullpen then opened the top drawer and took out a yellow legal pad and two pens and set them carefully and precisely before him. He lifted the small stack of files that was sitting on the corner of the desk and brought them closer.

Picking up a pen, he wrote on the pad: Inspector John Jankowski, Inspector Matthew Knowles, Inspector Ronald Cochran. With a weary sigh, he picked up the top file, placed it before him and opened it slowly. Leaning on his left arm, he began to read.


	31. Chapter 31

Thoiunk. Thoiunk. Thoiunk. The weirdly half-metallic, half-leather sound, mesmerizing in its rhythm, filled the cavernous gym. It echoed off the walls, the familiar reports oddly comforting to the man in the black sweats slowly bouncing the ball at center court. It brought back memories from his childhood, a sound that had reverberated all throughout his life, if truth be told.

He found solace here, this place where he could get away and be himself, work out problems and exorcise frustrations. But it didn't seem to be helping this morning, no matter how many shots he took, no many how many times he'd covered the length of the court.

He was breathing heavily and, before he started towards the far basket once again, he heeled the sweat out of his eyes. He sprinted down the court, approaching the basket at an angle then leapt, tossing the ball with practiced ease. It bounced off the backboard and dropped into the netting.

Landing gracefully, grinning, he jogged away from the hoop, listening to the ball bounce as it hit the ground. It bounced twice, and then there was nothing. Startled, he turned quickly and froze, his mouth open, panting for breath.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Mike managed to get out between gasps.

Steve Keller, in sweatpants, t-shirt and sneakers, was holding the ball in both hands, grinning. "I called your house and Jeannie told me you were here. You always come this early?"

Mike glanced around the empty gym. "There's nobody here at this hour, I can go at my own pace." He paused, frowning. "How long have you been here?"

"Long enough to know you need someone to play against."

Mike's eyes narrowed. "You want to take me on?" he asked slowly.

The grin turning into a goading smile, Steve nodded, his eyes never leaving the older man's stare. "Yeah, I want to take you on."

"All right, hotshot, one on one. Twenty-one by two, all right?" When Steve nodded, Mike slowly backed towards center court. "Want me to spot you a dozen?"

Steve snorted. "Come on, old man, show me what you got."

"'Old man', hunh?" Mike shot back, "I'll show you 'old man'. Toss it."

They had reached center court and Steve flung the ball into the air. Mike, half a head taller, jumped, reached up to his full height and grabbed the ball, muscling the younger man aside and dribbling down the court. He dunked it for two, Steve trailing in his wake.

As they jogged back towards center, Steve muttered, "I'm gonna lull you into a false sense of security." Mike chuckled, then tossed the ball into the air.

They sprinted back and forth down the court, both making baskets, blocking shots and stealing balls, calling out the score after each basket sunk.

Mike was up, 19 - 17, when Steve snatched a rebound and sprinted down the court, his opponent hot on his heels. Steve's attempt at a shot was blocked by Mike reaching over his head. Pulling the ball into his chest, Steve pivoted quickly to break away when his elbow caught Mike in the lower right ribs.

The older man went down hard, landing on his back. Both arms wrapped instantly around his chest, his eyes squeezed closed and his face contorted in pain. He was gasping for breath.

Terrified, eyes wide, Steve stood rooted to the spot. "Oh god, Mike, I'm sorry. It was a - Are you okay?" he asked quickly and was just about to kneel when the older man opened his eyes and, holding his breath, started to push himself up with his right arm, his left still wrapped around his lower chest.

"Jeez, Mike, I'm sorry, I didn't mean …" Steve's voice trailed off as Mike staggered to his feet and faced him, pain still evident on his face.

Staring into the younger man's eyes, Mike reached out and grabbed the ball. "Foul," he said quietly, his lips turning up into a rictus grin. "I get two free throws."

Stunned, shaking his head in disbelief, Steve watched without moving as the older man, with a backward glance of smug superiority, crossed slowly to the foul line. Chuckling, knowing he'd been had, Steve moved under the basket. Mike sank the first shot with ease; Steve snagged the ball and tossed it back, continuing to shake his head in bemused frustration.

When the second shot also slipped easily through the netting, Mike turned to the younger man and bowed, then put up his hands. "No need to applaud," he said with false modestly then grinned.

Chuckling, Steve fell into step beside him as they crossed the gym towards the locker room. Mike had picked up the towel that had been lying against the wall and wiped the sweat from his face and neck before he turned to the young man beside him. "I take it you're here for the Anderson hearing this morning, right?"

"Ah, yeah," Steve said quietly. "Captain Olsen called me a few days ago. I got in last night." He hesitated for a second. "So, ah, you going?"

"Me?" Mike shook his head with a facial shrug. "Naw, I don't think so. I was going to, but then I realized, I have no stake in this, I wasn't in charge of Homicide when all this went down. And if you're going to be there, well, that's what's important, isn't it?"

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," Steve said quietly, grabbing Mike's t-shirt and pulling him to a stop outside the locker room door. "You're not going to go?"

Mike looked at him evenly, his expression neutral. "There's no need for me to be there," he said simply with a shrug as he turned and pushed the door open, entering the locker room.

Steve stood still, confused, as the door shut in his face, then he was in motion, pushing the door open and charging into the dressing room. Mike was thumbing the dial on his combination lock.

"What do you mean, there's no need for you to be there? You have to be there. You're the head of the department… and you're my partner."

Mike glanced over his shoulder. "I wasn't the head of the department then, and I certainly wasn't your partner then either."

"But you were my partner before all this happened and you're my partner now, you should be there with me. I mean, come on, you're always telling me partners are there for each other, right?"

Mike had stopped moving, his locker halfway open. He took a deep breath before he asked softly, "I'm your partner _now_?"

Steve froze, then chuckled and looked down. He was still holding the basketball and he put it on the bench before taking a step closer. "I, ah, I was going to tell you later but I guess this is as good a time as any." He cleared his throat as Mike turned his head to face him. "I'm, ah, I'm not going back to Sacramento, Mike," he said quietly.

The older man turned slowly and sat on the bench. "Why not?"

Steve gradually pulled his eyes up from his study of the floor and a smile built slowly. "Well, you know, I told them there was this lieutenant that I was training and we'd hit a crucial stage in his… education and that I didn't think it was right that I just abandon him like that…"

Steve, whose eyes had been flitting around the room while he spoke, now looked straight at the older man, whose own eyes were boring into his face, bright and warm.

A small self-conscious smile was tugging at the corners of Mike's mouth. He cleared his throat. "Ah, yeah, that, ah, that sounds very plausible. And they, ah, they bought that?"

"Yeah, well, I didn't give them much of a choice, you know. Besides, you know how hard it is to get a really good apartment in this town. No way I was gonna give up the lease on my little beauty for some… some _motel_ in Sacramento." He sounded perturbed but Mike knew it was an act and he was speechless.

Steve glanced around the room once more. "Hey, ah, if the two of us are gonna make it to the hearing on time, we'd better get a move on. We still gotta shower and all that, right?"

"Right," Mike said quietly as he got to his feet, opened his locker and took out a couple of towels and his clothes.

# # # # #

They had driven to the McAllister Street courthouse in separate cars and met up again in the lobby. Mike almost couldn't remember making the drive; his mind had been elsewhere, still not quite believing what had transpired earlier that morning.

Steve, on the other hand, was elated that things were turning out as they were. He had spent several sleepless nights in Sacramento, weighing the pros and cons of the life he would be living there to the one he was contemplating leaving behind in San Francisco. In the end, there hadn't been much of a choice.

As they walked down the corridor in silence, Mike finally ventured a sidelong glance. "What's the real reason you came back?" he asked gently.

Steve slowed his quick pace, knowing that the older man needed more of an explanation than the facetious one offered in the gym. But still not sure he was ready to confess his true feelings, he chuckled and smiled, "Well, you know that old saying, 'big fish, small pond'? Up there, with all that FBI manpower and everybody else, I was feeling like a very small fish in a very large pond. So I started thinking, maybe I'd like to be a medium-sized fish in a medium-sized pond."

Mike chuckled, knowing the younger man was once more being evasive but accepting it for the moment. "So, ah, so what size fish am I?" he asked warily.

Steve looked at him with wide eyes. "You? You're no fish, Mike, you're a whale." Laughing, he opened one of the big padded doors and gestured for his partner to precede him inside. With a slight bow, a nod and a grin, Mike entered the courtroom.

It was still early, and the courtroom was almost empty. Assistant District Attorney Gerry O'Brien was sitting behind one of the two large tables on either side of the imaginary aisle that separated the defence from the prosecution.

Quietly approaching the bar that divided the spectators from the well, Mike hissed _sotto voce_ to get the lawyer's attention. O'Brien's face lit up when his eyes fell on the two Homicide detectives. "Hey, glad to see you guys could make it." His eyes slid to Steve. "And really happy to see you here. It's not very often we let an accused murderer walk away scot free, and he's got you to thank."

"You too, Gerry, really. If you didn't believe me…."

"Yeah, well, the stuff you brought me was pretty convincing. So how are things going up there in Sacramento?"

Mike glanced at Steve and shifted uncomfortably and O'Brien's eyes briefly flicked to the older man before settling once more on the younger one.

"Well, ah, they're gonna have to catch him without me," Steve said, his gaze sliding self-consciously to Mike for a brief second before returning to the attorney. "I think I can make more of a difference here than I can up there right now."

Frowning, his stare traveling from one partner to the other again, O'Brien nodded. "I hear ya. Well, welcome back."

A back door opened and the bailiff and court stenographer entered the room. O'Brien glanced at his watch. "Ooo, getting close. Excuse me, gents, I have to get my head back in the game here. Although this is one of the easier things I get to do." With a nod, he turned back to the file on the table in front of him.

Mike, who was holding his fedora in his hands, nodded to Steve and they slipped into two chairs in the front row, near the far wall. The courtroom was still almost empty, which was slightly surprising given the seriousness of the reversal about to be granted.

Suddenly the doors to the corridor opened and a large group entered noisily. Mike recognized a couple of local reporters, a newspaper photographer and several courtroom regulars. Steve recognized Roger Anderson's parents and his younger sister, and Sheila Anderson's widowed mother. He was just about to mention all this to Mike when the door opened again and Lieutenant Jack Gallagher strode into the room.


	32. Chapter 32

Lieutenant Jack Gallagher didn't look happy. His sullen eyes flicked around the room as if searching for someone or something, then stopped abruptly when they spotted the two Homicide detectives sitting passively in the front row, staring at him.

Steve swallowed almost nervously when their eyes locked, but Mike just raised his chin slightly and narrowed his stare, as if daring the Robbery lieutenant to challenge their presence.

Gallagher broke the standoff with a scowl and angry shake of his head, moving to sit as far away from them as he could. Mike looked straight ahead once more, a tiny triumphant smile playing over his lips. Steve glanced at him sideways. "I never expected to see him here today," he whispered with a dry chuckle.

"Well, he really didn't have much of a choice," Mike volunteered enigmatically.

The younger man stared at his profile but when he wasn't forthcoming, asked quietly, "You knew he was going to be here?"

Mike's smile got a little wider. "Well, I may have had a little something to do with it."

Steve cocked his head. "You care to fill me in, Lieutenant?"

Mike's smile got even bigger and he turned to the younger man with raised eyebrows. "No," he said simply then looked back into the well again.

Suitably chastised, Steve slumped slightly in his seat and frowned. He began to wonder just how much more his partner was keeping from him.

The courtroom was filled to overflowing when the hearing commenced at precisely 10 a.m. Anderson, in civilian clothes but his hands cuffed in front of him, was brought in from a side door by two uniformed officers, and took a seat beside his lawyer. Steve glanced at the defence attorney and froze. Bryce Donnelly met his eyes evenly and smiled, and there was a warmth in the look that the young cop wasn't expecting.

Steve touched Mike's arm to get his attention. "Did you know Donnelly was representing Anderson this morning?"

Mike's eyes slid towards the defence table and then back. "Actually, no, but far be it from him to miss out on an opportunity for free publicity," he chuckled softly.

Still scowling, Steve sat back and watched as the bailiff ordered them all to stand as Judge Marlon Ambrose entered through the door behind the bench and sat, then gaveled the proceedings to order.

The entire hearing took less than fifteen minutes. Donnelly was asked to stand and present the case for dismissal, which he did quickly and efficiently, then Judge Ambrose asked ADA O'Brien if the District Attorney's office had any objections, which they did not. Ambrose, intimately familiar with the minutiae of the case after his previous meeting with O'Brien and his own careful examination of the relevant documents, wasted no time in declaring that all charges against Roger Anderson be dropped and, with the court's apology, instructed that the handcuffs be removed and the former defendant allowed to leave.

The courtroom erupted in cheers and Ambrose tried but failed to gavel the decibel level down. Shrugging, and shaking his head with a wry smile, the jurist traded a 'well, what can you do?' look with his bailiff and exited the room.

Mike and Steve stood slowly, watching as Anderson exchanged hugs with his family members, his mother in tears. Steve noted that even Sheila Anderson's mother was crying, and he remembered he had heard that she never believed her son-in-law was guilty.

He felt Mike staring at him. "How do you feel?" the older man asked softly.

Steve smiled self-consciously. "Vindicated," he said with a relieved sigh.

Mike grinned and nodded. "You did good, Steve, you really did."

Nodding as well, Steve was continuing to stare at the family reunion when he felt a touch on his arm and turned to see Bryce Donnelly standing on the other side of the bar. The lawyer was actually smiling. "Keller, I know you never expected to see me here today, but I'm not always a jerk, you know. I was very impressed with how you went to bat for Roger and I thought he might need a little more than a court-appointed mouthpiece to get him through this."

Steve's brows knit with skepticism. "So, what, you're doing this pro bono?"

"Hey, it's not always about the money," Donnelly said with a laugh. "Good to see you, Lieutenant," he nodded at Mike as he moved away.

"No, maybe not," said Mike sotto voce, his tone dripping sarcasm, as the lawyer disappeared into the crowd surrounding the newly released Anderson, "but it's always about the self-promotion."

Steve chuckled then turned to his partner. "Come on, why don't we get out of here and get an early lunch. I'm buying."

Mike, who had started to walk along the row, turned back sharply. "You're buying? Then I'm pickin' the restaurant."

"Ah ah ah, remember my salary is not as big as yours," Steve reminded with a laugh as he started to follow.

They got to the center aisle and were just about to turn towards the door when they came face to face with Gallagher. All three stopped abruptly, Gallagher's eyes flicking back and forth between the two Homicide detectives.

"Jack," said Mike evenly, breaking the stalemate. With a curt nod, he took a step towards the door.

Gallagher turned his hard stare to Steve, who hadn't moved. Neither said a word. After a few seconds of silence, Steve allowed a small wry smile to emerge and he turned slowly to follow Mike towards the door.

"I see you still have your 'Daddy' covering your back, Keller," Gallagher hissed quietly and he watched as both detectives froze in their tracks. Very slowly they turned back, Mike lowering his head and raising his eyebrows. Steve took a step towards the Robbery lieutenant and his cold smile drove the sarcastic grin from the older man's face.

"You know, I feel sorry for you, Jack, I really do," he said quietly, deliberately emphasizing the superior officer's first name. "You see, 'cause I figure you never really learned the difference between a 'Daddy', as you call it, and a father. A 'Daddy' you outgrow, or at least you should. But a father? Well, a father is a wise mentor who helps shape you for your entire life. And if you're really lucky, you get to have more than one."

Steve began to turn towards the door once more then, as if on second thought, looked back at the still speechless Gallagher. "By the way, I'm one of the really lucky ones." He winked, then, with a grin, turned away again and strode past Mike and out the door.

Mike, grinning as well, pride so obviously written on his face, raised his eyebrows and put on his hat as he chuckled and followed his partner into the corridor. Steve was waiting for him just outside the door. They stared at each other for several seconds then started down the corridor.

Finally, Steve sighed. He held a hand out and looked down at it, almost embarrassed that it was trembling. Mike glanced over but didn't say anything. Dropping his hand and shaking his head, Steve said quietly, "Well, I'd like to think it was all over but I still have that grievance to worry about." Though he hadn't told Mike about it directly, he somehow knew that the older man would have found out.

Mike stopped abruptly. "Oh, jeez, I almost forgot." He glanced at the younger man. "Be back in a second." He turned quickly and started back towards the courtroom but before he could get there, the door open and Gallagher stepped into the corridor.

Mike strode up to him, reaching into his inside jacket pocket as he stopped quickly. Glaring at the suddenly uneasy Robbery lieutenant, Mike took a folded piece of letter-sized white bond out of his pocket and handed it over. "Here, I forgot to give you this. It may, ah, clarify a couple of things for you."

Gallagher took the paper hesitantly and, as Mike's eyes bored into the top of his head, unfolded and read it. When he finished, he looked up into the cold blue eyes, his expression ambiguous.

"So, ah, everything cleared up now? You have any questions?" Mike asked innocuously and Gallagher shook his head slowly, folding the paper and tucking it into his own inside pocket. His grin now wide and reaching his eyes, Mike nodded, "Good, good to hear that. Well, ah, you take care now, Jack. Oh, ah, just one more thing – stick to Robbery from now on, will ya? You do less damage there."

And with a quick wink, his face suddenly turning hard and cold, Mike pivoted away and strode back down the corridor to his now thoroughly confused partner. Mike was two steps past him before the younger man spun and jogged to catch up. He grabbed Mike's sleeve and, as the older man glanced towards him, whispered urgently, "What was that all about?"

"That?" Mike asked guilelessly without slowing down, "Oh, nothing. That was just me doing my job for a change."

His eyes narrowing in bewilderment, Steve shook his head and chuckled. " _Your_ job? What part of your job, precisely, was that?"

With a happy grin, Mike said with quiet pride, "The part that says I look after _everyone_ in my squad, including my partner. And that would be the squad that I had before all this… nonsense happened."

Steve smiled in understanding, and he had to clear his throat before asking, "So, ah, so what was on that paper?"

"Oh that?" Mike asked as they started down the grand staircase. "Oh, that was just, ah, oh, a reminder of his familial obligations."

"His what?"

They had reached the bottom of the staircase, and Mike turned to face the younger man with an unreadable smile. "Let's just say that, ah, Jack Gallagher is now well aware that we know just exactly who his son-in-law is." His wide eyes bored into his partner's as his grin got bigger.

With a shake of his head and an awe-struck smile, Steve turned and started to walk towards the exit. Chuckling, Mike began to follow and the younger man slowed down enough for him to catch up. Then, without looking back, Steve said softly with a sarcastic laugh, "And you said you weren't gonna come this morning. Yeah, right."

"What do you mean?" Mike asked innocently, eyeing him sideways.

"You had this all planned out, didn't you?"

"All what planned out?"

Steve glanced back; Mike was looking straight ahead and grinning.

"Gallagher having to be here, the note you just gave him. I bet you even arranged for Donnelly to be Anderson's lawyer, am I right?"

Mike looked down and chuckled. "Well, you might be right about the first two, but I had nothing to do with Donnelly, scout's honor. I was just as surprised as you to see him there."

Steve eyed him skeptically. "Unh-hunh."

"Hey, I'm not a miracle-worker, you know. I'm just a Homicide lieutenant, that's all."

"Yeah, that's all," Steve chuckled. "So, ah, have you decided where you want to go for lunch?"

Mike glanced at him with a wide-eyed grin, grateful the younger man had decided to change the subject for the moment. "Oh, ah, how about something fishy for a change? Let's hit one of those new seafood places down by the wharf."

"Works for me," the younger man agreed as they pushed their way through the heavy front doors and out into the bright midday sunshine.


	33. Chapter 33

**Well, we've come to the end of 'The Road' - and I would like to thank all of those who took the journey with me. It's been a lot of fun - and I hope a good read. Your loyalty means a lot - to me and 'our boys'.**

Steve followed Mike into the bustling bullpen, stopping at his desk and taking his notebook out of his pocket before removing his jacket as the older man continued on to his office. A couple of the others looked up from their desks, trying to hide their smiles; it was great to have the pair back to work again and, even though it had already been a couple of days, the novelty had yet to wear off.

Mike was hanging his hat on the rack when the phone on his desk rang and he crossed around to the chair side to answer it, continuing to stand as he tucked the receiver under his chin and slid his .38 off his belt and put it in the top drawer. "Homicide, Stone."

Steve smiled warmly to himself as he sat, tossing the notebook on the desk and flipping it open. Several minutes later, with Mike still on the phone, he was stretching and extending his legs straight out under his desk when his foot hit something. With a curious frown, he pushed his chair back and looked under the desk.

"Oh jeez," he whispered to himself as he got onto his knees and reached to the back of the well to pull out a cardboard box. Getting back into the chair, he glanced guiltily towards the inner office. He waited till Mike hung up the phone then picked up the box and crossed to the glass door.

"Important?" he asked, nodding at the phone with his chin as he stood in the doorway.

Mike glanced down at the phone than back up. "No, no, just housekeeping stuff, you know." He nodded towards the box. "What've you got there?"

"Ah, this, yes, ah," Steve hesitated before moving deeper into the office and putting the box on the desk, "when, ah, when Gallagher was, well, you know, I knew he was going to be using your office and I thought I'd pack up your personal stuff for safe keeping." He looked at Mike contritely. "I put it under my desk and kinda forgot about it."

Silently, Mike reached out and brought the box closer, slowly taking the lid off. He reached in and picked up the small framed photo of Jeannie. "I was wondering where all this stuff went, but I kept forgetting to ask." He set the photo down in its usual spot on the desk then started removing the other items and putting them in the drawers. "Thanks, buddy boy. That was very thoughtful of you." His tone was genuine and any fear Steve may have had that in forgetting to return the items he had incurred his boss's wrath, he knew he was quite wrong.

Dan Healey poked his head in the door. "Hey, Mike, someone dropped this off for you at the front desk." He held an envelope out. Steve grabbed it and passed it to Mike, who took it with raised eyebrows. Both Dan and Steve shrugged before Dan disappeared back into the bullpen.

Mike looked at the envelope. "Nothing on it," he said as he took a letter opener from the top drawer and slit it open. He removed the one sheet, which Steve could see was typewritten, fished his glasses out of his pocket and sat back to read. Steve watched his face closely but couldn't decipher a thing from his partner's neutral expression.

Suddenly, Mike laughed abruptly and looked up, surprised. "Buddy boy, we're going to dinner."

"What?"

Mike held up the letter. "Well, it turns out Rocco Costantini – you remember him?"

"Yeah, maybe not as… up close and personal as you, but yeah," Steve said with a chuckle

"Ha ha. Well, it turns out he owns a half share in 'Troiani', that fancy Italian place down near the Wharf, and he's invited us to dinner to," Mike looked at the letter, "to 'begin to repay you for the grief and pain I so inadvertently caused you and your partner during the unfortunate incident in the courthouse.'" Mike stared at him with wide eyes and a goofy grin. "He's going to pick up the tab for a dinner for both of us and our families, drinks included, anything we want, anytime we want." He laughed. "Hey, not bad, hunh?"

"Let me see that," Steve said with a grin, reaching for the letter.

Mike sat back with a surprised smile. "Well, we're just going to have to pick a night, 'cause I am definitely going to take him up on his offer. You?"

"Are you kidding? A free meal, on my salary? I never turn down one of those." Steve handed the letter back with a chuckle. "Hunh, too bad he's only going to get dinged for three of us, this could've cost him big time."

"You could bring a date."

Steve glanced up and tilted his head slightly. "I'm not dating right now." But as thoughts of Beth Daniels flashed through his mind, he couldn't resist a warm smile.

Mike frowned, curious, and made a mental note to ask his young partner about it sometime in the near future. "Say, ah, you better start earning that salary, Inspector," Mike gestured vaguely towards the outer office, pulling Steve out of his reverie. "Don't we have an open case or three right now?"

"Getting right back to work, Lieutenant," Steve said with a laugh, standing quickly and pretending to race back to his desk. Mike watched him go with a laugh, then picked up the letter and put it back in the envelope.

# # # # #

At the end of a very long day, Steve swung the tan sedan from 10th onto Bryant; they were heading back to the Hall before finally going home. They were still basking in the wonderful glow from the previous night's repast at Rocco Costantini's restaurant. It had turned out to be a memorable night, with Rocco as their gracious host. The food was extraordinary, the wine perfect and the company nonpareil.

They hadn't spoken for several minutes when Steve glanced across the front seat and cleared his throat. "Ah, listen, Mike," he began tentatively, "I know things have been, well, they've been great since we both got back, but, ah, I, ah, I think I still owe you an apology."

Mike had turned to look at him, his expression neutral. "For what?" he asked softly.

Steve glanced at him once more, his brow furrowing. "You know for what. What I said to you at your place –"

"You don't have to apologize," Mike interrupted gently. "Steve, we all say things in anger sometimes that we don't really mean, things we wish we could take back the second they leave our mouths. Lord knows I've done it before, probably more times than I'd care to admit." He chuckled then reached out to briefly touch the younger man's arm. "You don't have to apologize." He watched as his partner swallowed heavily and nodded, concentrating on the road, though Mike could see the sudden brightness in his eyes.

"Thanks," Steve whispered, and Mike smiled.

"Hey, ah," the older man said quickly, trying to change the uncomfortable topic, "you never did tell me what happened in the Parker case. Was he convicted?"

"Oh, jeez, yeah, I almost forgot about that, it was so long ago. Yeah, he was found guilty. Gerry was great, he said I had a lot to do with it, so that was, ah, that was good. Really good."

They had reached the Hall and he turned in, looking for a parking spot in the outdoor lot. Finding one, he slid the Galaxy to a stop and they got out. They made their way up to the Homicide office, going to their respective desks before, hopefully, heading back out and going home.

Mike found a message taped to his phone to call Captain Olsen as soon as possible, so he sat with a heavy sigh and started to dial.

There were no messages on Steve's desk, but there were two official SFPD envelopes, both marked "Personal and Confidential'. Sitting, he took the letter opener out of his top drawer and slit the first one open. He pulled out the single white sheet, opened it and started to read.

Mike finished his phone call and hung up the receiver. He was just about to yell into the bullpen that he was ready to go when he glanced up and froze. Steve was sitting at his desk, holding a letter loosely in his hand, staring into space; another half-folded letter sat on his desk. Mike smiled warmly, sitting back and dropping his head.

Slowly, Steve got up and crossed to the inner office door, both letters in his hand. His eyes were bright, and Mike could tell he was having a very hard time keeping his emotions under control.

The younger man leaned against the doorframe and brought his free hand up to cover his mouth. Mike heard him sniff and saw the tears standing out brightly in his eyes. With a warm smile, Mike held out his hand and Steve took a step closer into the room and handed him one of the letters.

Fishing out his glasses and putting them on, Mike began to read, already pretty confident he knew what this was about. His features creased into a broad grin as he read, then looked up with raised eyebrows. "You deserve this, you know. It isn't everyday an assistant inspector is single-handedly responsible for discovering the M.O. of a mass murderer. If the Department hadn't nominated you for a commendation, I would have gone after the FBI."

"So you're responsible for this?" Steve asked quietly, pointing at the letter in Mike's hand.

"No, no no," Mike shook his head emphatically. "I endorsed the idea, but I didn't originate it."

Steve stared at him, not quite believing the denial. He reached out and took the paper out of Mike's hand, then passed over the second letter. "I know you had something to do with this one," he said softly.

Mike met the green eyes evenly then looked down at the white bond in his hand. It was an official letter from Personnel and his gaze fell immediately to the pertinent sentence: _"This is to inform you that the following:_ _Inspector Steven Keller_ _has been designated/added as Next of Kin to:_ _Lieutenant Michael Stone_ _…"_

Mike swallowed heavily and looked up. Steve was chewing on his lower lip, the tears threatening to fall. Mike shrugged and smiled warmly. "Hey, it, ah, it was the least I could do."

Steve returned the smile. "Thank you," he said quietly.

"Well, let's just hope we don't need to use it, right?" Mike chuckled gently then he cleared his throat a little louder then necessary. "Hey, ah, I don't know about you but I'm starving. Why don't we get out of here and go pick up something and bring it back to my place? On me. I'll give Jeannie a call and see if she's had dinner yet. What do you say?"

Steve grinned and nodded. "Yeah, I'd like that."

"Then it's a deal." Mike picked up the phone and began to dial.

Steve crossed back to his desk, folding the letters and returning them to their envelopes. He put them in his top drawer then turned and watched his partner through the glass walls of the inner office. Mike's smile when he talked to his daughter was always a welcoming sight.

Steve turned and sat on his desk. He thought back over the past two months or so, the ups and downs he'd had to weather, the anger, the fear and the doubt that had so dominated his life. Now that it was finally over and he was back where he was supposed to be, a warm contentment washed over him, the innate understanding that this is where he was supposed to be at this time in his life, and that this was one of the people he was destined to share this life with, for as long as the fates would allow.

He looked back up at his partner and smiled.


End file.
